


The Colors of My Life

by tcs1121



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Big Bang Challenge, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tcs1121/pseuds/tcs1121
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b>  At age twenty, "Blind Artist" Jensen Ackles became a successful, world renowned Abstract Impressionist painter by painting what he saw. However, fourteen years later, Jensen feared that what was left of his poor eyesight was coming to an end sooner rather than later and wanted his work to carry on after his colors faded to black. Jensen takes on an aspiring, talented young artist, Jared T. Padalecki, as his apprentice.</p>
<p>"It might be a bumpy ride, but I swear, it'll be worth it."</p>
<p>~~*~~*~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>"I know what it looks like, but this is how I see it."</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i></i></p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Jensen Ackles on his art, as told to Misha Collins,<br/>Edition # 317, I Am Every Man magazine.</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	The Colors of My Life

**Author's Note:**

> **My Artist:** The amazingly talented [sammycolt24](http://sammycolt24.livejournal.com/) Please do yourself a favor and see her lovely artwork at [Sammycolt24's Master Post](http://sammycolt24.livejournal.com/4596.html)
> 
> **My Beta:** [kee](http://kee.livejournal.com/) Whose generosity with her time and talent, straight talk and kind, gentle guidance makes my stories so much better. Thank you, my dear friend.
> 
> **My First Reader:** [spn_J2fan](http://spn-j2fan.livejournal.com/) A cheerleader and spellchecker extraordinaire! 
> 
> **A/N (1):** Written [for SPN J2 Big Bang 2013](http://spn-j2-bigbang.livejournal.com/)  
>  **A/N (2):** The title of the story and lyrics sprinkled throughout are from the song  The Colors of My Life from the musical Barnum
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Untrue story. Character names used without permission. No money changes hands.

~~*~~*~~

_"I know what it looks like, but this is how I see it."_

__

Jensen Ackles on his art, as told to Misha Collins,  
Edition # 317, I Am Every Man magazine.

~~*~~*~~

**The Colors of My Life**

~~*~~*~~

**ONE**

~~*~~*~~

~~*~~*~~

Part One— _The colors of my life are bountiful and bold_  


~~*~~*~~

"To the left, Aldis. Move it way over."

"This far enough, Jense?"

"Now hold it up against the corner of the blue wall."

"Like this?"

Jensen stood back and crossed his arms. "Yes. There, Aldis. Perfect. The dark blue color of the wall enhances the colors of the canvas and gives me a boundary at the same time."

"Nail it in?"

Jensen tipped his open hand to the left and raised it up. Aldis followed Jensen's hand movement until Jensen said, "Stop, stop. Right there."

Aldis put down the painting and took measurements to make sure of the exact location and position the artist wanted his painting hung.

"Thanks, man." Jensen smiled. "You put up with me pretty good."

"After years together, boss, I'm used to it." He carefully rewrapped the painting and leaned it against the wall. "You ready for the next one?"

Jensen shook his head. "I think that'll be all for tonight. The exhibition's not for another month and, hopefully, I'll have the other two ready to add to the collection. Either way, I have time to move the artwork around again and again and drive us both crazy."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Aldis's voice smiled. "In fact, I don't know what it would be like _not_ moving your paintings around every night until you get it right."

"And that's why you still have the job, my friend." Jensen's fingertips brushed the walls of his gallery as he walked toward the front door.

"Yup. You're my bread and butter." Aldis packed his tools.

Jensen turned in a circle and smiled wide. He loved showing his works. His artwork was deeply personal, yet he couldn't wait for the public to see his view of the world. 

"After office hours again tomorrow night?" Aldis asked. "You're paying overtime, right?"

"I would if you'd let me." Jensen sat and glanced up at the walls proudly displaying his works. "I _am_ paying you this time. I'm running you ragged."

"Naw, as I've always told you, paying me would cheapen the experience." Aldis straightened an already hanging painting. "There's no place else I want to be."

"Thank you, Aldis. I mean it."

Aldis patted Jensen's arm. "Do you want any company getting home tonight, boss?"

Jensen chuckled. His gallery, studio, business office and home were all separate sections of one big, seaside cottage. "Getting home" meant walking out of the gallery and up the center staircase or, if he were in his studio, up the back stairs to his bedroom. 

"No, I'm good. Just want to sit here and look at them. I'll go up in a few. You go ahead, your girl's waiting."

"You sure? I don't mind staying."

"I know you don't." Jensen smiled and slouched down in the leather loveseat. "But I want a couple of minutes to enjoy my colors."

There were spotlights, artfully aimed at the canvases, and right now, the overheads were on as well, bathing the room in light.

Aldis clicked off all the overhead lights, leaving the spots on, illuminating the paintings that were already hung. 

"They're beautiful, Jensen. They're all beautiful." 

Jensen spread his arms wide and said, "My world and welcome to it."

"And I thank you for sharing it with us." Aldis sat next to Jensen. "The whole world thanks you."

A moment was shared in easy silence. Then Aldis leaned over and tugged Jensen into a bear hug.

"Hey, what?" Jensen gave a startled laugh.

"You're a gift, you know," Aldis said. "A gift to all of us."

Jensen closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his friend. "You're biased."

"Even if I am biased, it doesn't make it any less true."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Aldis reached for the tall white stick leaning against the wall and placed it in Jensen's hand. "Don't stay here all night, boss. Go upstairs. Dictate notes for tomorrow, or listen to porn, then go to sleep. I've got a feeling that lots of good changes are coming your way."

"I could say the same to you." Jensen yawned. "Go home, take your girl to bed, watch some porn for me and I'll see you tomorrow."

"You know it's not that easy."

Jensen smiled tiredly. "Watching porn?"

"She's white, I'm black. She's Jewish, I'm Lutheran. She's hot, I'm hot—so much heat in one place, man. It ain't easy."

"I get it. Both your parents hate it. Doesn't matter, love conquers all. Take her home, love her, and good things will follow."

"Let me get you upstairs first." He nudged Jensen. "You're kind of on the way." 

The spotlights lit the canvases from below and above, casting his paintings in colorful, proud displays. "I don't like to sleep," Jensen said, but clamped his teeth against an impending yawn. 

"I know you don't," Aldis said. "But I'm taking you to bed anyway."

"You haven't even bought me dinner." 

"I won't tell that you're a cheap date." Aldis stood and offered his hand.

Jensen blinked to clear his eyes—such as they were. "You sure you don't mind staying late again tomorrow night? It's Friday night. Date night." 

"I wouldn't miss it."

Jensen took Aldis's hand and stood. "I have to work on getting the lighting right in the entryway. I also think I want the west walls painted taupe. So, yeah, there's work to do." He tapped the red tip of the cane rhythmically on the floor. "You could have Beth come help. That way the two of you could be together. I wouldn't mind."

"Well, I would bring her, but, as I said, our combined heat would melt your oils."

Jensen laughed. "Better not then."

"Better not." Aldis offered Jensen his left elbow and said, "Let's get you home, boss."

Jensen was about to decline, but couldn't clench his jaw tight enough to keep in another yawn. Aldis poked Jensen with his elbow. Jensen didn't usually need to be guided here, but it was late, it was dark, he was tired and Aldis was offering without being asked, so his fatigue must have been obvious.

Jensen took hold of Aldis's arm and said, "Okay, okay. Lead on, MacDuff."

"It's Hodge."

"Lead on, Hodge."

Aldis flicked off the lights one by one and when the colors were hidden in shadow, they left.

Jensen sat at his desk leaning close to the pages of a textbook, peering through a magnifying glass. His glasses were folded up next to the open book. Today, Jensen was taking appointments in his office and not working in his studio. He raised his head from the page and stretched his neck side to side. The intercom clicked softly.

"Hey, boss," Aldis's disembodied voice said from the speaker on his desk. "Your new guy is here, should I send him in?"

"What's his name?" Jensen asked. "I want to make sure he actually is my new guy and not some new guy wannabe."

"What's your name, new guy?" Jensen heard Aldis ask. "He says it's Jared Pad-a-leck-i. That's how he said it. Slow like that."

"That's him." Jensen unfolded his glasses and put them on. "Let him in, A." 

"Here you go, Mister Pad-a-leck-i." Aldis opened the door to let in a tall man with dark brown hair dressed in denim blue pants and a white shirt.

His posture was slightly stooped, indicating to Jensen that he might be nervous, but he promptly straightened up when Jensen stood and extended his right hand.

"Jensen Ackles, pleased to meet you." 

"I know who you are, sir. I'm Jared Padalecki your new apprentice wannabe." Jared said, pumping Jensen's hand.

Jensen smiled warmly, "Welcome aboard." He turned to his assistant. "Thanks, A, I've got it from here."

"Okey dokey," Aldis said, closing the door behind him.

"I like him," Jared said.

"Have a seat, Jared, I was expecting you." Jensen indicated the chair in front of his desk. "Since you know who I am, tell me about yourself." He leaned back in his swivel chair. 

Jared laughed. "And here I thought I went overboard on my resume, telling you every last little detail of my life." He quieted suddenly. "Unless you, ah, couldn't read it." 

From across the desk, Jensen saw Jared duck his head and turn away. Acting quickly to quell the young man's embarrassment, Jensen said, "Don't worry. I read your resume and I studied your portfolio at length, but I want to hear about you in your own words, how you discovered your passion for art. You are an extremely talented artist."

Just like that, the straight, tall posture was back, the white of Jared's shirt became brighter as the sunlight hit him full on from the curtainless window. He spoke with an easy rhythm and a hint of a down-home accent.

"Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you. In fact, it means _everything_." Jared gently bounced in his seat. 

Jensen couldn't see facial expressions, but Jared exuded pleasure, and right now, a little bit of pride. 

"Well, I'm originally from San Antonio, Texas." Jared continued bobbing up and down as he spoke. "Now, when I was a kid, I liked it fine when my folks took me to museums, but I didn't always have a love of fine art." Jared rocked forward and spoke intensely. "See, I'm real good with numbers and have an aptitude—and affection—for solving complicated math problems. I loved developing intricate equations and solving convoluted math puzzles. I'd always been interested in aerospace engineering, so I decided to attend the best school around and become an honest to god rocket scientist."

Jared paused and Jensen didn't know why, but thought Jared may have shrugged before continuing.

"I was a math major at the University of Texas at Austin, which has one of the best math programs _in the world_ , when something wonderful happened in my senior year." Jared cleared his throat before saying, "Although I gotta admit, my parents didn't think it was so wonderful since UT had already offered to pay my way through the doctoral program."

"What happened?" Jensen prodded. "In your senior year?"

"Why, _art_ happened." Jared nodded emphatically.

"You know, Jared," Jensen cracked a smile, "art was around long before your senior year of college."

"Well, nobody told _me_ that. I had to find that out all by myself, and it was almost too late. I was this close to graduating with a math degree."

Jared made another gesture that Jensen couldn't interpret, so he closed his eyes and listened to the happy, mischievous quality of Jared's voice. 

"Go on."

"Okay, so, at the time, I had a friend who was into Dutch classical art and he insisted we go to the Austin Museum of Art to see a traveling exhibit. He got the exhibit information wrong, and instead of Rembrandt and Vermeer, we got Paul Klee and Joan Miró." Jared stopped, probably to catch his breath.

Jensen chuckled, "Not even close to the Dutch masters."

"I know, right? Then Piet Mondrian happened and Jackson Pollack happened, and Van Gough and Picasso and then—Arshile Gorky, the father of Abstract Impressionism happened. It was like I was drugged but wide awake at the same time. A whole new world opened up for me. I couldn't get enough, of the feelings, the _passion_ of the works, and I could take the meaning anyway I felt, and nobody, but _nobody_ , could tell me I was wrong. You know what I mean, right?"

Jensen opened his eyes, wishing he could see the face that went along with the excited voice.

"I do, indeed."

"Of course you do. That was a stupid thing to say." Jared took in a noisy breath. "Anyway, one reason I like math is because math is comfortable. If you follow the rules, use the right equations and work the problems well, you get the answer. And using a specific set of variables, there is _only_ one correct answer. But art? No one interpretation is correct. There is _no_ answer.

"After finding that out, I should have curled up into a little freaked-out ball and hidden under the bed. I mean, shit, I was a math geek, a numbers prodigy working strings of integers from end to end and always coming up with the right answers. I should have been shocked by this world of colors and chaos that meant only what I said it did—but I wasn't. I was awed, I was excited because a light switch flipped on and the world lit up. God, I was so _lucky_." 

Jared's voice faded, perhaps losing himself in the memory.

"What also happened was that I discovered that I needed a new boyfriend who could appreciate vibrant colors and soaring emotions and not straight lines, cut edges and realistic representations. And that right there was too much information."

Jensen was amused when a bright red flush appeared on Jared's neck and face. "Art changed your life in more ways than one, I see."

"Yeah, I guess so." Jared shook his head, but sounded happy. "I found out that not only was I good with numbers, I was good with colors. I love them, and they love me. So much so, that I want to spend the rest of my life with them. I'm not going to lie, there is a mathematical quality to my art, but that's also who I am. 

"Right now, I'm going to say something that's gonna sound like so much bullshit, but it's not. I look at your work, Mr. Ackles, and your paintings speak to me. I want to study with you, make it so my colors are in harmony with yours. I want you to help me bring my world to life like you brought your world to life for us."

"Is that how you see my paintings? Bringing _my_ world to life?"

"Not exactly." Jared paused a moment and said, slowly, "I see your paintings as a portal, allowing us to peek into your world for a tiny moment. It's a vibrant and heartbreakingly beautiful world, and I want to paint so that I can express my life and love of color to others. Forgive me for sounding callous, but that'll be a lot harder for me than for you, because you've been living in your world of colors, contrasts and light for your whole life. I'm only now coming to discover mine."

"Wow, that's..."

"Oh, _God_ , I'm sorry. I didn't mean to minimize your…I didn't mean that you were fortunate because you…Oh, God, I'm _sorry_." Jared stood and started pacing. "I talk and talk."

"Calm down, Jared. All I was going to say was that it was an insightful observation about my work."

"I don't shut up even when my inner voice tells me to. It's not like I don't know I'm talking, it's like I have to say this one more thing, then this one _more_ thing, and then I'm on to the next thing. I told myself to shut up after I talked about the art museum. And I'd like to be able to say that the more you get to know me, the less I'll talk, but that's not true. I'll never stop. I mean, I'll get better at reining it in, but I won't ever be able to just say one thing and not have it lead to another thing, and saying that you're lucky that you can't…that you don't…"

"Jared, please _stop_. It's okay. I knew what you meant."

"But Mr. Ackles." Jared's voice was rough.

"Christ, Jared, it's not like I don't know I'm blind."

"I'm so _sorry_."

"You don't have to be sorry." Jensen realized that his new apprentice was genuinely distraught at what he felt was an unfortunate remark.

"No, sir, you don't get it. I'm sorry because I'm _not_ sorry you're blind. If you saw the world the way a fully sighted person did, we would never have your art." Jared raised a hand to his head, probably running it through his hair, or scratching an ear. "Mr. Ackles, you asked me what happened. It was _your_ art. Your art was the next thing that happened. I believe that I never would have found my calling, my passion, my _purpose_ , without the colors of your world."

The clock on the wall ticked, the traffic blared from the street. Jared turned away. 

"Have a late lunch with me." 

"After what I said?" Jared sounded frayed around the edges.

"I want to have a late lunch, early dinner with you. I'm hungry, we're going to be working together, and you need to know what I expect from you." Jensen marked the book in front of him with a long strip of yellow paper and closed it with a thump. "Unless you've changed your mind about accepting the position?" 

"No, of course I haven't changed my mind, but I'm amazed you haven't taken back the offer."

Jensen drummed his fingers on the desk top. "You were right. You did put a lot of information in your resume. But underneath all the boot licking and ass kissing,"

"I can explain," Jared interrupted.

Jensen held up his index finger, "Under all the boot licking and ass kissing, was a genuine, passionate, and driven artist wanting instruction and guidance from someone he respects. I have no doubt that you like my work and admire my style. So, if you want the apprenticeship, it's yours. Let's go eat so we can start feeling comfortable around each other." 

Jensen removed his glasses, put them in the case and carefully placed it on the right hand side of the top desk drawer. Then, Jensen watched this lanky boy draw himself to full height. He aimed his voice directly at Jensen.

"Thank you, sir. Thank you so much. I hope I do you proud."

"You're welcome."

"Master Ackles, Apprentice Padalecki can't promise, but he will attempt to keep the ass kissing down to a minimum." 

"Good," Jensen laughed as he stood. "If you don't mind, grab me my cane. Should I call for a ride, or can you drive us?"

"I'll drive." Jared handed Jensen his cane saying, "I have a car. She's not high end or anything, but she's reliable." 

"As long as your car safely gets us to where we're going, I don't care what it looks like." Jensen slid his sweater on and waved the guide cane. "Literally."

Jared was silent. Maybe he didn't know how to respond to Jensen's little joke.

"Let me clarify, I have no opinion on what your car looks like, as I can only see the color, not the details. All I care is that it's dependable, that you don't drive erratically, and that it doesn't smell like dirty socks."

"Okay, yeah. I'm a good driver and the old girl's clean."

"Good, let's go." Jensen pressed his intercom button, "Aldis, Jared and I are leaving. I'll be back later tonight."

Aldis immediately opened the door. "Where you all going?"

"Out to eat. I'll have Jared drive me back so that you and I can keep working on the gallery."

"I can come and get you from the restaurant," Aldis said.

"No, that's okay. I have to start getting used to Jared's driving." Jensen gently placed the tip of his cane on the floor in front and to his right. He held out his left hand to Jared. "Come here."

"What do I do?"

"I won't need you to do this in familiar places, but when I do need to be guided, I'll take your right elbow and you'll walk slightly in front of me. I can see large obstacles, but I can't always tell what they are or how close they are, and if it's crowded, I'll definitely lose you if I'm not touching you. Recently, I, uh, lost my depth perception and I use the cane to locate edges so I don't bump into walls or fall off of curbs. Also, out in public, the cane identifies me as visually impaired so it keeps me from getting shoved around." Jensen shrugged. "Let's go." 

"All right, I got'cha." Jared crooked his arm and placed Jensen's hand around his biceps at the elbow, as though he were his escort.

Aldis snickered under his breath, but Jensen shot him a stern look. Jensen didn't want to embarrass Jared so he let him take his arm and they strolled out of the office toward the gallery's parking lot.

"So, Jared, before you truly accept the position as my apprentice, I have to warn you, it's probably not the job you had in mind when you signed up." Jensen had picked a quiet, well-lit Italian restaurant with a menu he was familiar with.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for one thing, I try to adhere to a daily work schedule, but I’m not always successful. In fact, I'm all over the clock." Jensen tilted his head to the right. "That means that you'll be keeping odd hours as well. However, much of our time will be spent painting or doing prep work. 

"I mix my own oils and pigments and it's time consuming, but that's something I want to teach you early on. I'll have you preparing my custom canvases. You'll be measuring, stretching and stapling the canvases to my specifications, prior to priming them. I use my own recipe to prime them and I often paint a background color right after the priming has set. Everything I do, every method I devise, I'll share with you. You'll be working alongside me, assisting me in the studio, but there will be times you'll have limited opportunities to talk to me because when I get in the zone, I don't want verbal interruptions."

"I'll work on the no verbal interruptions thing."

"I'm not asking for a life altering commitment from you—which would be to stop talking," Jensen teased. "I'm only explaining why I might not answer you when I'm concentrating." 

"Good," Jared laughed. "I wasn't ready for a life altering commitment like that quite yet."

Jensen forked up a bit of linguini. Using a spoon, he rolled it like a pro and popped it in his mouth. 

Jared swallowed something and asked, "How do you know you can trust me?"

Jensen nodded. "You mean with my secrets." It wasn't a question.

"How do you know I'm not an opportunist with a scheme to sell all your knowledge to the highest bidder? I mean, _I_ know I'm not. How do you?"

"Well, you asking this question is a fairly good indication that I made the right choice."

"I know, but..." Jared made head and hand movements that Jensen couldn't read.

"Jared, do you have any idea how many applicants I had for this one and _only_ apprentice position I offered?"

"Five hundred and twelve."

Jensen stopped mid chew and stared across the table. 

Jared raised both arms high. "Math major, remember?"

Jensen swallowed. "Ahh, yes."

Jared said, "You would have had more applications if you hadn't limited the shout-out to only one week." 

"I guess that's true." Jensen carefully reached for his wine glass.

"I _know_ that's true. It was a fluke that I caught the announcement in the professional journal at all. I always get the journals late, if I even get them. You should have heard all the wailing and gnashing of teeth from all of those who missed the application deadline." Jared reached for something on the table. "This is a dream come true for me. God, I'm so lucky." 

Jensen leaned back in his chair. "So, to answer your question about how I know I made the right choice, you know, for the last three months I've been narrowing the field of contenders. When I got to the last twenty, I started some heavy duty research on each applicant. By the time my assistant called you, I felt I knew what I was getting with you. But, so you know, I was going to wait until after I met with you before having you sign on the dotted line. I'll bet you _don't_ know how many people I have waiting in the wings to interview in case you crashed and burned today." 

"Nope, I don't." Jared replied, cheerfully. "In mathematics we call that a moot point."

"Funny, in Art Theory, we also call that a moot point." Jensen smiled. 

"Yeah," Jared conceded. "I think that's what my mechanic calls it, too." 

Jensen laughed. "Let's finish up here so you can get me back to the gallery, I have paintings to move, walls to paint and lighting to set. Meet me in my studio tomorrow morning around eight thirty and we'll continue this there." Jensen raised his hand in the universal "check please" sign.

"I know there's a lot more to talk about and figure out, but, Mr. Ackles, I do know—with mathematical certainty—that, if you'll have me, I will sign on that dotted line."

"Good, I'll have Aldis finalize the paperwork before you come into the studio." He reached across the table to shake Jared's hand, this time sealing their verbal contract. "I'm glad to have you, Jared."

Jared shook Jensen's hand. "Not as glad as I am." 

After paying, Jensen stood, buttoned his sweater and took his cane in hand. 

Jared moved timidly to Jensen's side and crooked his elbow. Jensen looped his arm through Jared's and they left arm in arm.

Part Two— _The purple glow of indigo,  
the gleam of green and gold_  


~~*~~*~~

"So, did Aldis give you the papers? Have you signed your life over to me for the foreseeable future?"

Jensen wore his work clothes: a paint splotched tee shirt, paint smeared blue jeans, and painter's cap. Spotted with paint.

"He did, but he didn't look too happy about it." Jared was dressed in red. Fire engine red shirt with some blurry whiteness around the chest, and candy apple red pants.

Jensen stared at his colorful new apprentice. "Is it Valentine's Day?"

"No," Jared laughed. "It's primary color day. I want you to be able to keep track of me."

"I'm fairly sure you're the only six foot something apprentice I have. It's not difficult keeping track of one person." Although Jensen acted cool, he appreciated Jared's gesture. He pointed to Jared's chest. "Does it say something?"

"Four and yes."

Jensen laid out three different diameter magnifying glasses on the counter within arm's reach. "Four and yes?" 

"Six foot _four_ and yes, my shirt has a picture of an analog clock that says "Prime Time" with only prime numbers on the clock face. Two is in the twelve position, and then three for one, five for two, seven for three, etcetera."

"You're fired."

Jensen heard Jared gasp. "What? Why? I'm sorry?" 

"Some visually impaired people, including me, use a clock face as a spatial reference." Jensen hid a grin. "I cannot work with someone if they tell me something's at nineteen o'clock."

" _Seven_. I'll say seven o'clock." Jared sounded relieved as he responded to Jensen's argument. "Sheesh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disrespect the clock." 

Jensen laughed. A little chuckle at first, and then he thought about it and thought about it, and by the time his mind made the fifth loop around, he was belly laughing. Jared's laughter echoed in the background. Jensen wondered how long it had been since he'd laughed out loud.

Jared made a big show of taking the red shirt off, turning it inside out and putting it back on. 

"There," he said. "No more clock humor. I only wish I had known that _before_ I signed on."

"Having second thoughts?" Jensen grabbed a Kleenex from the box on the table and blew his nose. 

"I'm not sure," Jared answered good-naturedly. "Let's see how you react to my sad puppy tee shirt."

"Yikes, no dogs allowed in the studio. That would be the last straw for sure." Jensen wiped his nose again before tossing the tissue in the trash.

"Last straw, really?" Jared was moving his head and hands, probably getting his hair out from under the collar of his—now backwards—tee.

"I guess this is as good a time as any to set some guidelines and show you how to work with me." Jensen sat in the stool by the canvas he had been working on.

Jared sat close to his right. "Ready when you are."

"Okay," he turned until he fully faced Jared. "People with visual disabilities develop methods of mobility and functional living skills that work for them and sometimes are unique to them. I'll show you all my habits and quirks. I’m not shy, and I'm fully aware that I have limitations. I'm set in my ways, but if you have suggestions on how we can make things easier for us working together in close quarters, let me know and we'll talk about them." 

Jensen spoke clinically on purpose. Experience had taught him that people were more at ease discussing his blindness formally rather than personally. Blindness made people uncomfortable.

"Okay." Jared made a hand and body gesture.

"That's the first thing we'll talk about," Jensen pointed to Jared's hands.

"What? What did I do?"

"Sometimes you make small or quick, body movements. People communicate through body language and facial expressions. I can't see faces, but I can see big, deliberate gestures. If you answer a question by a subtle shrugging your shoulders, or a raise of a finger, I won't be able to make it out. However, if you raise both arms up and out to the side, and exaggerate your motion, I'll be able to see it. Watch what I mean." 

Jensen made the big movements to exaggerate a shrug, a wave of his arm to get attention and to greet, and a two armed movement in the familiar motion meaning "come here." 

"I prefer that you use words or touch to express yourself, but I know that sometimes movements are more appropriate, so make your gestures big enough for me to interpret."

Jared turned and bent low from the stool he was sitting on, and rummaged through a case that was on the floor. "I should take notes."

"Another thing, when we're walking together, let me hold on to you. Like I said, in familiar places I won't even need my cane, but let _me_ take _your_ elbow and use you when I need to."

"Wait, let me get this down," Jared said. "Don't take the artist's arm and escort him as if going to a ball."

"Or a cotillion," Jensen agreed.

"Or. A. Cotillion." Jared raised his pen with a grand flourish. "Go ahead. Continue."

Jensen grinned briefly, but sobered. "The biggest fear I have is getting lost, so always keep your phone on and charged, just in case. Mine has a GPS, make sure yours does, too."

"Have you ever? Gotten lost?"

Jensen swallowed thickly and nodded. "Yeah, once when I was a kid and it was in the middle of the night. I don't want to repeat it."

"My phone has a GPS locator. I'll sync it up to yours."

Jensen nodded silently, "Okay, after getting lost, my next biggest fear is tripping and falling. What I'm going to say next is _the_ most important thing: Do not move anything ever."

"Anything?" 

"Ever. Even though I have vision, I don't rely on it like you do. I'm used to having my home, office, studio, and gallery set up in a way that is familiar to me. In your own house, you could probably walk around with your eyes closed because you know where everything is, right?" 

"Yes, and have." Jared nodded big and slow. "I've walked around my apartment with my eyes squeezed shut on more occasions that I care to admit."

"It's like that for me—every day." Jensen said. "So it's important that all furniture and area rugs remain in the same place. Drawers need to be closed, doors and cabinets shut tight, anything that falls on the floor has to be picked up right away. Otherwise I could bang into things and risk a fall. I tripped and fell and broke my ankle five years ago in the bathroom when the vanity door didn't latch properly. It opened a couple of inches and I didn't see it—eight weeks in a cast. Four months ago, I sprained my wrist, falling over a pair of shoes an overnight guest left out in the open. The wrist was scary because it was my right, and it was a bad sprain. It took six weeks to become stable and comfortable enough to hold a paint brush again."

"I'll be careful," Jared said, sincerely. 

"I know you will. I'll tell you about my other idiosyncrasies as they come up." Jensen started lining up his work surface. "The biggest things are making sure I don't get lost, that I'm safe from falling, and don't walk into traffic." 

"I won't let you fall." 

Jensen wished with all his might that he could see a hint of what was written on Jared's face.

They sat in silence for a moment. 

Then, Jared stood and made a wide slow turn. "I'm looking around your studio and wondering if you prepare your own materials the night before, or is this something I can do for you?"

"Aldis knows how I like my workspace set up. I let him know what I want to work on for the next day and he gets it prepped. I'd like to relieve him of that and have you preparing my paints, palettes, canvases, etcetera. We'll go through how I like it done this afternoon because I want you to start on that right away." 

Jared didn't look over when he asked, "Are you sure he won't mind?"

"What? Aldis giving up set-up chores?"

"Um hum," Jared answered.

It didn't occur to Jensen that Aldis might actually like handling these odds and ends. Aldis was his loyal, long-time employee and never complained about doing the extra things asked of him. However, it couldn't be much fun staying late at the office while a leggy blonde waited for you at home.

"No, he won't mind. I work him too hard as it is and I'm sure he'll appreciate the extra time he'll have when you take over these jobs." 

Jensen thought about it and rolled his eyes. "Extra time? Right, that just means he'll dedicate more time to running the office, contacting customers with updates, handling my schedule, running interference with the art critics, the art curious, _and_ my housekeeper, keeping toner in the printer, paper in the fax machine, handling the payroll, and the thousands of other things he does to keep things running. No, he's already doing the job of two full time employees, I definitely want you to handle the studio and that includes ordering art supplies." 

Jared was strangely silent.

"Everything all right, Jared?"

"Yes, sure, everything's fine." Paper rustled dramatically from Jared's direction. "I'm trying to write myself crib notes in case there's a pop quiz next week."

"Is there a problem between you and Aldis?" Jensen would hate to think there was a conflict between two important people in his business life right now.

"No, sir."

"Okay, good." Jensen placed a clean pallet on his work bench. "I'm going to talk as I do this. You'll have questions, I know, but don't start with a barrage of them early on. On the other hand, you don't have to get my attention first before speaking, since I won't be looking up at you for a sign. Wait until I pause and then you can interrupt me." He clicked on the drafting lamp, and a bright spotlight shone on the white pallet.

Jensen deftly opened three large tubes of oils and five smaller ones and began squeezing the colors onto the pallet.

"There _are_ some nitty gritty details about your duties that I didn't get to last night." Using one of his painting knives, Jensen cut the oils, mixing small amounts of goldenrod yellow in with the sapphire blue.

"There are a few more things you'll have to help me with both inside and outside of this studio," he said after squeezing a generous dollop of burnt sienna on the far side of his pallet. "I'll give you them all in writing for you to sign, but I want you to know what your responsibilities are up front, in case you change your mind." 

"Why would I want to do that?" Jared was amused. "I just signed the papers."

"Well, I'm going to give you one more chance for an out if you decide this isn't the job for you. For one thing, I'm going to need help, not only with the artwork, but with my academic and social activities, and transportation needs. You would have to take an undetermined amount of time to get me to my scheduled and unscheduled appointments, conferences, interviews, lectures, and such. All art related, though, and you would have a hand in them."

"Is that why the job description asked if I had my own vehicle?" Jared tied a cherry red bandana around his head.

"Well, that's why it asked if you had a driver's license. I'll pay all the car expenses, including gas and insurance. I would rent a car if we had to go on a long trip." Jensen shuddered at the thought.

"No problem, I'll chauffeur you."

"I'll try not to take undue advantage of you, kid— _try_ being the operative word here." 

Jared gestured something with his head and hands. He'd remind Jared about that later.

Jensen continued, "Since you know a lot about me, you're probably aware that I guest lecture at the university every semester, and while I have nothing to do with grading the students, some of them request appointments with me. I like talking to young artists and art enthusiasts, and I'd like you to help with that."

"Talking to them, or scheduling?" Jared asked

"Both." Jensen fanned several brushes on his bench. "So far, so good? Not running away in a panic?"

"So far, so, _so_ good." 

"Ah, you say that now," Jensen smiled. "Now for the big one. I have an important gallery exhibition coming up in a little over a month and I need a lot of work done prior, including preparing full-color photos of each work for the guest pamphlets. Aldis has been helping me with all the set ups and take downs, but I want to give him a break with that, too."

"I know a couple of good photographers from college. If you want, I'll get in touch with them and see who's the best fit."

"That's not a bad idea. New blood and all." Jensen tested the bristles of his flat brush. "Good. By helping me with all of this, you'll see how I like to set up my works for display."

"Oh, man, a new showing, that's _great_. Do you have new works?" Jared stopped setting out his own supplies. "Please tell me you do."

"Some new, some old," Jensen answered. "The viewers like to see the older, more familiar works alongside the newer ones. Some people come to the shows only to see those older ones. Critics from two major art magazines will be attending the opening as well."

"Are you selling any?"

"No, but I have some that were commissioned with the proviso that I could show them for a year first. There's one that I think is particularly stunning, but needs the finishing touches. I'd like your help and your opinion on that." 

Jared made a choking sound. After several seconds he asked, " _My_ opinion?"

"Of course. Artist to artist, who better to give a critique? While your painting style is definitely unique, your use of colors, the way you frame them, and the intensity of how you present your subject, is actually quite similar to mine. I would definitely appreciate your opinions."

"I'm…I'm flattered. I had no idea you thought so highly of me."

"You think you're up for all this?" Jensen smiled, aiming the lamp that would illuminate the canvas he had set in front of him. 

"Hell, _yeah_ , I'm up for it. I’m up for all this." Jared stilled and took in a breath. Jensen swore he heard Jared mutter, "Stop talking, stop talking." 

After a moment, Jared said, calmly, "I mean, yes I will give you my help and my artistic opinion. I will keep up with student's requests and help with your hectic schedule. I will keep the students, customers _and_ the art critics under control as much as possible. I'll mix oils, dyes, pigments and primer, and have all your preferred materials set up and ready for the next day. I'll stretch canvases to your specific dimensions and drive you back and forth to anywhere you want to go. I'll help you pick out brushes, hang paintings, record lectures and I'll clean up after you. I'll even try to shut up when you're working— _try_ being the operative word, and I will be proud and honored to learn anything and everything you're willing to teach me."

Jensen raised his eyebrows. "Wow, all that from _one_ apprentice? I might actually be underpaying you."

Jared laughed loud and long. "Not by a longshot. By the way, if you need any help tonight with getting the artwork set up for your show, I'm available."

"Thanks, but you and I will be starting on that tomorrow night. I'll let Aldis know that this is his last night of unpaid overtime for a while." He held up his hand. "Before you say anything, I have been trying to pay him."

"I wasn't going to say anything. Well, I was going to _try to not_ say anything." Jared replied.

Jensen squinted up at the tall, fidgeting shape dressed in red. "I have to warn you, Jared, while I don't want to mess anything up for you personally, it can get intense. I can get intense. When inspiration strikes, I _will_ need you at odd hours, I can be temperamental and demanding. I don't like the idea of having you wait on me, but I hate it even more if I had to rely on a stranger, or a driver I'm unfamiliar with, or someone who doesn't know my preferences and limitations. Or if it's someone I don't trust." Jensen took a breath. "Think hard on it, because I'll be taking a huge chunk of your life."

There was a long, silent pause.

"I can't _wait_."

"Good!" Jensen unscrewed a bottle of linseed oil, sniffed it to be sure, and closed it, placing it at eleven o'clock. "I may ask you to read some journals and reviews to me. I can read the printed word when I have to, but I prefer reading in Braille. Print takes me a long time to read—which is a testament to me calling you in after the huge amount of information you put on _your_ resume, kiddo."

"You actually read it?"

"Every word." Jensen said. "It took me a couple of hours and several Advil to get through it, though."

"I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be. You got the position because you have enthusiasm, drive, and talent." Jensen blinked several times. "Could you please lower the shades?" Sometimes light came in at the wrong angle. It was early June and the morning glare made his eyes water.

Jared pulled down the blinds. "Mr. Ackles, can I make a few suggestions?"

"Like what?" 

Jared sat on a paint stool and leaned forward. When he was this close, some of his features were making themselves known, but mostly Jared was a moving red blob of blur with floppy hair and a happy voice.

"Okay, so," Jared stuttered. "If you're having a bad day, getting headaches or whatever, I want you to let me know so we can end early. I'll finish the clean up or whatever else." 

"Sounds reasonable." Jensen had to admit that he had bad days every now and then.

"I am reasonable. And if you forget that you need to eat and sleep, I'm going to remind you."

"I don't like to sleep." 

"But we all need to sleep, and that includes you."

Jensen nodded. "I'll consider it."

"Mr. Ackles, everything you let me help you with will give me insight to your process, and I'll learn from that. I feel as though _I'm_ the selfish one, getting as much time with you as I can."

Jensen could hear Jared's eager willingness to learn from his art hero and Jensen didn't want to disappoint him. Even though Jensen was a well-known artist, he had some severe self-doubts. "We'll work on this together. We need to find ways of trusting one another to do the right thing for each other. I need this partnership to work, I don't know how much longer…" Jensen rubbed his eyes. "I need this to work."

"It'll work." Jared made it sound like a promise. "We'll make it work."

"Make no mistake, you have a gift worth cultivating. It will be my pleasure to be your inspiration and guide through your journey. Oh, and Jared?"

"Yes?" 

"Please call me Jensen. We're going to be around each other a lot, and that would make me more comfortable. Unless you'd prefer that I'd call you Mr. Pad-a-leck-i?" 

"I would be, thrilled? Uh, honored?" Jared shook his head in big wide arcs. "How 'bout you call me Jared, I'll call you Jensen." 

"Sounds like a plan." Jensen brandished his flat brush and blended the colors.

Jared put down what was in his hands. "I'm so lucky," he murmured under his breath, and then began setting up his work station.

He bounced up and down with every move until, in a loud, excited voice said, "This is the best thing that's happened to me _ever_. I can't believe this is my _life_." 

Jensen laughed and took a large magnifying glass. "Let's get started on day one of your new life, then. Come closer, this canvas has already been primed, and I've started laying pigment around the border. I want you to study my brush strokes."

"Okay, boss." Aldis walked over to Jensen. "Where're we starting tonight? The alcove?"

"No, I think the entryway." Jensen stood in the middle of his gallery gazing at the walls. "Start with taking this one down," he pointed to the painting titled, _Smoke and Whispers_. "Then clear the alcove entirely, I have an idea for what I want to go there."

The alcove was a large, enclosed area at the back of the gallery where Jensen customarily displayed his most popular works during an exhibition.

"All of them?" Aldis asked. "Really?"

Jensen grinned. "Yes, really. I know it's a lot of work, but I have some good news for you. After tonight, you won't have to stay up late anymore doing this. Starting tomorrow, Jared will be rearranging the gallery."

"What? No." Aldis's voice raised a notch. "This is _my_ job, Jense. For as long as I've been around, it's always been you and me doing this."

"I know and that's why I'm giving you a break." Jensen grazed his fingertips along the bared and prepared entryway wall. "I've been eating up all your time. You need a life outside of this place. I'm sure Beth would agree."

"No, I love this. Beth understands. C'mon, boss, we don't need Jared to get this done." Aldis began pacing.

"But this is what I have Jared _for_ ," Jensen explained. "I want him to learn how I do these things. How I want my art displayed. It's important to me that he knows this. That's why I brought him on."

"I help with that," Aldis countered. 

"Aldis, you, of all people, know why I have to bring Jared in on this."

Aldis nodded big and slow. "Yeah, I know why, but that's because I know you better than anyone. Hey, we can do it together."

"Thanks, man, but no." Jensen sighed, "I thought you'd be happy to get out of this miserable, tedious chore."

"Shows how much you know," Aldis said, softly.

"Al," Jensen said. "You'll have time, now. You have _Beth_ now."

"I hear you. I'll go take down the alcove." 

Aldis turned and headed toward the back of the gallery leaving Jensen to wonder what just happened.

Jared met Jensen in the studio every morning, eight thirty sharp. Jared had been setting up the studio in the evenings. He set up canvases, arranged brushes, prepared palettes for paint, and set out magnifying glasses for both of them to study brush strokes, color, and paint distribution. Jared learned how Jensen liked the lights focused on the painted canvas, the palette, and the work surfaces.

Jensen was pleased with Jared's enthusiasm and intelligence. To Jensen's delight, Jared had a whip sharp memory and rarely did he have to tell Jared anything twice. Not only that, but Jared had a sixth sense when it came to Jensen.

Jared knew which project Jensen wanted to work on the next day, and prepared the work surfaces and the materials. If it turned out that Jensen changed his mind in the morning, no harm, no foul, as Jared would take down the set up from the night before and replace it with the new items he had surprisingly close by.

Neither Jared nor Jensen appeared troubled by the errors and miscalculations on both their parts and the take downs and set ups went smoother and easier as Jared acquainted himself with Jensen's preferences. 

Jared took all mistakes and criticisms with good grace and humor, and quickly learned how to meticulously arrange Jensen's supplies to the artist's liking. In return, Jensen took Jared firmly under his wing. 

Jensen demonstrated how he was able to keep the oils thin when he wanted and piled for effect when he didn't. He shared with Jared the deft and precise use of pressure on the brushes, judicious use of solvents, use of painting knives, hand, wrist, and fingertip movements. He taught Jared how he used the materials, but more emphasis was used to show why Jensen had concentrated the colors the way he did over the canvas. 

More and more, Jensen used his words as well as his colors to show his world to Jared. That was something Jensen never expected to happen.

"I see the ocean as a vast haze of indigo and tea green, with white, bronze and rusty reds flowing through, always in motion, always changing in shape and intensity."

"A rainstorm is bright, sharp fragments of light, swirled in slate gray and deep blue, but always a promise of gold."

Jensen had always said: "I'll try and tell you what things look like to me, but my paintings say it better."

With Jared around, Jensen learned the words for his colors.

"Show me how you're using your fan brush." Jensen aimed his chin at the set of brushes at the ready on Jared's station.

Jared was standing at the far end of one of his own paintings. He stopped to show Jensen his grip on the dry, hog bristle brush that looked like a small fan. 

"I'm softening the brush strokes at the outer edge of the canvas. I think the delineation there is too harsh."

"Try straightening your wrist more on the upstroke, see how you like the effect," Jensen suggested.

Jared straightened his hand, and using the fan brush, blended the looping whorls of color, with mad upward strokes of the brush. 

"Nice," Jared said.

Jensen took a step back from Jared's canvas. "I love your technique on this—how you bring the color to the exact edge of the canvas without making it look like the color needs to continue on." 

Jared's style was exciting, frenetic and joyous. That's what drove Jensen to look closer at this clever, gifted young artist. 

"Thanks! I know I use big canvases, because I like big art, but I want what I'm painting to, I don't know, _fit_ on the canvas without the viewer wanting to look behind or beyond the image I'm portraying."

Jensen nodded his understanding. "You've got it down pat, kid. You have this painting perfectly crafted. As confined as a canvas always is, this image is exactly grand enough for your interpretation." 

"That's awesome, coming from you, Jensen. Thank you." 

"You're very welcome."

Jared stood beside Jensen in front of his painting. "You really like this?" he asked softly.

"It's remarkable, Jared. Do you have a working title?"

"Yeah," Jared sounded overcome. "It's called _Beyond Fibonacci_."

Jared's paintings had titles like, _Simple Harmonic Motion, Vertical Stretch and Shrink_ , and Jensen's personal favorite, _Scatterplot_ —a color blast of numerically inspired montages creating abstract seascapes and moonscapes all within the same picture frame. It was magnificent. 

Jared was magnificent.

Jensen sat in the leather chair in his gallery, his head propped in his hand. Jared had packed away the last of the night's endeavor and was turning out the lights.

"Where do you live? I never thought to ask." Jensen asked, sleepily.

"Over the river and through the woods," Jared answered through a yawn. "Not too far. I found a little apartment off of Route 128 about four, five miles from here." 

"Are you going to be okay getting home or do you want to crash here? I've got a guest suite on the second floor."

"Thanks, but I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" Jensen wondered why he was reluctant for Jared to go home. It was late, later than usual, and they had a busy day planned for tomorrow.

"At this time of night it's a straight shot and no traffic. It'll only take me a few minutes to get home." Jared stood in front of Jensen, held out his hands and lifted Jensen out of the chair. "If I thought I couldn't make it back here early tomorrow, I'd stay. What I don't want to do is wear out my welcome."

"And I don't want you falling asleep on Route 128." With the lights out, the darkness was overwhelming. Jensen's cane was gently placed into his hand.

Jared turned Jensen toward the well-lit hallway and pointed him to the stairs. 

"You're not, you know," Jensen said.

Jared made a drowsy little chuckle, "I'm not what?"

"Wearing out your welcome. In fact, I'm getting kind of used to you." Jensen leaned back against Jared's chest. 

"Jensen…" Jared's breath was hot on his neck.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" Jensen half turned, but a jaw cracking yawn stopped him in his tracks.

Jared ran his fingertips lightly against Jensen's cheek. "I've gotta go _now_ , or you might never get rid of me." Jared gave Jensen a playful nudge toward the stairs. "I'll be back, bright and early."

"You'd better." Jensen didn't turn around and he didn't hear Jared leave.

~~*~~*~~

~~*~~*~~

~~*~~*~~

**TWO**

~~*~~*~~

Part Three— _The splendor of a sunrise,  
The dazzle of a flame,_  


~~*~~*~~

"Welcome art students, art teachers, and invited guests. I'm Professor James Beaver, the director of the School of Visual Arts here at Boston University.

"I had the great fortune of meeting renowned artist, Jensen Ackles, _before_ he was renowned. We met at his premier showing at the Vivvari Gallery in the Chelsea section of New York City fourteen years ago, and I'm proud to say we've been friends ever since. 

"After his debut with _The Colors of My Life_ , this gifted, young artist catapulted high into the art world. For, not only were art critics and aficionados impressed by his work, but the common man and woman were struck by the depth of beauty, the richness of color and contrast, and just the rightness of composition and texture this artist brings to his paintings. 

"Jensen is currently preparing for his fall exhibition, _Sky High_ , in his own gallery in Rockport. As a favor to me, and as a favor to you, Mr. Ackles is with us today to speak about his area of expertise—Abstract Impressionism. Students of art, I am honored to present, Mr. Jensen Ackles, accompanied by his apprentice and Impressionist artist in his own right, Mr. Jared T. Padalecki."

The audience in the lecture hall applauded politely. Professor Beaver stepped aside to let Jared lead Jensen to the center of the floor in front of the podium. Jensen dropped his hand from Jared's elbow, Jared handed Jensen his cane and stood at Jensen's right at the four o'clock position no further than a yard away. 

Jensen angled his head up, surveying the crowd. He couldn't tell how many people were out there, but the variety of colors, movements and sounds led him to assume that there was a full house, and this hall sat over two hundred people. Behind him, large white screens projected a slide show of his best known works. _Primeval Prevailing_ was illuminated now. That piece made the cover of _Time Magazine_ the year it was unveiled. 

Jim came up to Jensen, grasped his arm and shook his hand, "Good to see you, son. As always, thanks for doing this." He handed Jensen the headset microphone. Jensen propped the cane under his arm, put on the headset and adjusted the mic.

"You know how I love an audience, Jim. It's my pleasure."

Jim patted Jensen on the shoulder and took his seat in the front row of the lecture hall.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I want to thank Jim Beaver for the opportunity to speak to you today. I'm your guest lecturer and I'm thinking that most of you have heard of me?" 

Gestures and low sounds came from the large hall that he couldn't read, so he turned toward Jared. Jared nodded slowly with a mild exaggeration of movement.

Jensen nodded and turned back to his class. "Because I'm sometimes referred to as "The Blind Artist," the first thing I want to get out of the way is the term "blind." Despite what the word implies, I _can_ see, at least out of my right eye. I have a lot more vision than someone who can only distinguish light from dark or from someone who has no light perception at all. I have actual vision; it's just not very good. But the sight I have, gives me a unique way of interacting visually with the world and I have displayed many instances of that world through my art."

It was times like these that Jensen wished he saw well enough to gauge the mood of his audience. Looking around the lecture hall, all he sensed were blotches of color, subtle movements and Jared—standing tall to his right. Jared's posture was relaxed and confident. 

"Before I begin, are there any specific questions about that?"

Instead of looking out at the students, who seemed quieter today than usual, Jensen turned to Jared. Jared raised his arm in an exaggerated gesture to the left side of the hall, pointing to a student, then pointing to Jensen with the motion to "turn around."

Jensen turned, following Jared's instruction. "Go ahead." 

"Mr. Ackles, forgive me, but if you can see, then you're _not_ blind, right?" a timid female voice asked.

Jensen smiled knowingly. "Unfortunately, that's not true." 

Jensen placed the tip of his cane onto the floor, flush up against the side of the podium and paced the floor of the lecture hall. Now that he was assured that he wouldn't be bumping into the podium, or into any of the front row students, Jensen continued with more aggressive strides. 

"I prefer the term 'low vision' to blind, but because certain rules and laws exist to assist the disabled, my visual deficits label me as blind.

"I was born with a condition called Pathological Myopia. Pathological or Degenerative Myopia is different from common nearsightedness. Pathological myopia is _so much_ nearsightedness that it causes major changes in of the shape of the eyeball itself. You can't see it when you look into my eyes because the malformation is way in the back. 

"The law states that if the best correction achieved with both eyes is 20/200 than one is legally blind. The acuity in my right eye is far worse than that, and my left eye has no sight or light perception at all due to an uncorrectable detached retina. I also suffer from cataracts, which is a darkening of the lens of the eye, and a pesky phenomenon known as "floaters" is a perpetual curse. Specks, spots, strings and cobwebs are always floating around inside my eye, sometimes obscuring my sight. Oddly, cataracts are treatable, floaters are not." 

Jensen continued, "What that means is, unless you're standing very still, two inches in front of my right eye, with the lights on bright, I would not be able to distinguish your features from anyone else's." Jensen paused. "But I would be able to see your colors."

The hall was so silent that the air conditioning powering up created a cacophony. Jensen bravely carried on.

"My apprentice, Jared," he raised his hand toward Jared and Jared promptly waved back, "is kind of an exception. I can spot him above everybody else and recognize him from a room away." Jensen stopped and smiled. "Him, I can see."

To Jensen's surprise, Jared let out a loud, happy laugh, "I wish I had a nickel for every time someone said that to me." 

Some of the audience members chuckled and Jim let out a soft guffaw.

"You'd have lot of nickels, then, huh?" Jensen joked.

"A whole _truck load_ of 'em," Jared answered, brightly and then loudly jangled some loose change in his pocket.

The audience erupted into laughter and atmosphere in the lecture hall immediately suffused into one of enthusiastic learning.

"So, be honest," Jensen said turning back to the students. "How many of you think that Abstract Impressionist Art looks like blobs of paint smeared across a canvas?" 

He turned toward Jared.

"They were good kids." Jensen shucked off his jacket and hung it on a peg by the door. "You did a great job in there today, Jared."

"I was about to say the same to you, _Professor_ Ackles."

They'd left the university and came straight back to Jensen's art gallery, preparing for the nightly routine Jared called the "Changing of the Guard." Tonight Jensen was going to ask Jared to paint the south gallery walls sage green.

Jared sat and sighed heavily. "Jensen, I didn't know."

"Didn't know what?" Jensen said, removing his tie and hanging it up with his jacket.

"I didn't know you'd completely lost the sight in your left eye."

"Oh," Jensen continued what he was doing, rolling up his sleeves and not looking in Jared's direction. "That happened recently. I woke up one morning, four months ago, and everything was black on that side. Remember I said I fell and sprained my wrist? It was then."

"Did the fall have something to do with it?" Jared stood close enough to feel his heat radiating like a living furnace. 

"It could have been. I hit the ground hard, but who knows? The doctors said the retinal tear must have happened in the middle of the night because by morning, too much fluid had built up between the retina and the back of the eye, and the tear couldn't be fixed. A detached retina doesn't hurt so it didn't wake me up."

"I'm so sorry." Jared grasped Jensen's wrist and shook it gently. "This time, I really am."

Jensen turned and tried to focus on Jared's features. "My whole life, I've been warned that with the severity of the myopia I was at risk for retinal tears, macular degeneration, cataracts, and a whole slew of other sight-stealing conditions. When I woke up that morning, without so much as a pinprick of light coming through on that side, I figured it was the beginning of the end. That's why I don't like to go to sleep, I’m afraid of waking up in the dark."

"We don't need to talk about it." Jared's hand moved from Jensen's wrist to the small of his back and kneaded slow circles. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's okay." Jensen closed his eyes and allowed himself the comfort Jared was offering. "I was going to tell you anyway." Jensen leaned into Jared's hand.

"About your lost vision?"

"No, about why I wanted an apprentice."

"I didn't know there was a reason. The offer to apply only stated that you were ready for one." Jared's hand kept circling slow and steady. "So, why did you decide to take on an apprentice?"

"Four months ago I sprained my wrist and had trouble holding a brush and that was terrifying. When I woke up and couldn't see out of one eye," Jensen sighed. "That was expected."

Jared's hand stilled and then moved to wrap around Jensen's shoulder.

"It was a little over three months ago that I realized someone would have to carry on my work when my colors finally fade to black." Jensen tilted his head up. "That's why I have you."

It was eight fifty AM when Jensen entered his studio. Jared had Jensen's easel, canvas and clean pallets set for the day, but Jared was standing in front of one of his own works in progress. Jared's posture was tense and Jensen could hear Jared breathing heavily. Jensen looked at the large, imposing canvas, splashed in frothy greens, reds, azure and cream, alive in a whirling tumult of color. Even the impressive size of the painting couldn't contain all of Jared's emotion.

Jensen had always found it difficult to maintain the dynamic energy for a canvas that size, but from what Jensen observed, Jared had outrun that canvas and could probably use a couple more to contain the power Jared had going.

Jensen cleared his throat loudly to alert Jared that he was there.

"Jensen, I've run out of space. I can't say all that I want on this one, but for God's sake, how much larger can I possibly make it?" Jared was practically whining.

"How long have you been here, Jared?"

"I came in at about, let's see," Jared raised an arm, presumably to look at his watch. "Christ, I don't know, midnight? One?" He raised both arms over his head and moaned out a loud yawn. "I felt it, you know? I had to come in and try to catch it while I had it. I had to capture the feelings and the force, but I didn't get them all. There's more, Jensen, but I’m not getting them."

Jensen stood gazing up at a large painting measuring about eighty inches by eighty. Which, coincidentally, was approximately Jared's height times Jared's height. 

A loud crash shattered the silence. Jensen dropped into a defensive crouch, arm in front of his face, head low. 

"Sorry. God, I'm sorry, Jensen. I didn't mean to scare you." Jared sank heavily onto the concrete floor. He sat with his legs splayed open, head tilted way back, his chin pointing straight up. "I threw my pallet. I'll clean it up in a minute. Be careful. Don't step too far to ten o'clock."

Jared sounded defeated. Jensen didn't know what brought on this melancholy, therefore he had no words to lift him up from it, so he silently settled on the floor next to him.

"You make it look easy, Jen." Jared turned his head away. "The way your colors blend and swoop and twine. They're in such harmony, such synchrony—I can't even come close. I'm so far from anything you've done. You made a terrible choice in choosing me to carry on your work." 

Jared bent his knees up, lowered his head and crossed his arms in front, hiding from Jensen. Jared's voice was muffled by his sleeves, but Jensen heard him loud and clear. "I'm going to let you down, and that scares the shit out of me. Disappointing you is something I can't handle. It might be time to cut our losses. Maybe you should look at that list," Jared's voice caught in a strangled sob, "Look at that list, and start again. I'll help you find a replacement."

Jensen sighed deep. "Jared, look at me."

Jared made big, exaggerated negative shakes of his head. 

"Jay, please look at me."

"I can't. I'm going to fail you. I can't look at you, and I don't want you to look at me."

"You're tired, you're hungry, and I can smell that you need a shower. You're exhausted and you need to get yourself together to refresh and regroup."

Jared stayed silent, his shoulders shaking as he took in an uneven breath.

"We all get discouraged and worn out," Jensen said, softly. "We all have times where we don't live up to our own expectations and fall short of our personal goals. There's a legend that Edvard Munch, when he was dissatisfied with his paintings, would take them outside and whip them. I understand that feeling. We've all felt like we haven't hit the mark, but that doesn't mean we're not capable of it. It only means that we've got to try harder."

Jensen stood up and backed away from the large canvas, gazing at the pigments and tints, bursting out from the white background, the hues and shades so painstakingly placed to evoke the emotions Jared felt. From what Jensen could see, the only thing wrong was that it wasn't finished.

"In this case, Jared, in the case of this work, you must complete it. It screams for an ending, and you need to give it one." Jensen stared at the painting and gasped as his eyes suddenly watered. 

"What is it, Jensen?" Jared whispered. "What's wrong?"

"You have to finish it, Jay. You have to."

"Why?"

"Because it feels like one of mine."

Part Four— _No quiet browns and grays  
I'll take my days instead…_  


~~*~~*~~

"Jared's here, Jensen. I'm sending him in." Aldis's disembodied voice came through the intercom on Jensen's desk. Aldis had become distant lately. Not rude or even unfriendly, but –for the lack of a better word—formal.

"Good. Thanks, A." Jensen was meeting Jared in his office this Monday morning to work out a schedule for the busy week ahead. Jensen's eyes were closed and his fingertips skimmed the page of the book he was reading. When they reached the end of the line, he lifted his hand, palmed his left eye first and then his right, rubbing in clockwise circles. 

"Do you want me to get you something for that?" Jared closed the door behind him.

Jensen's glasses were folded on his desk. He reached into his jacket pocket for the case to put them away. "Yeah, that would be great, thanks. There's some heavy duty Aleve in the cabinet in the back bathroom. Get me two if you don't mind?"

"I don't mind." 

Jared came back with the tablets and a glass of water.

"It's not my plan to use you as a gofer, but thank you."

"Gofer to a Grand Master is my life-long dream and I'm not letting you stomp on it when it's so close within my reach." Jared sat in the chair opposite him.

Jensen chuckled, "Grandmaster is the highest title you can give a _chess_ player."

"Or a Jedi Knight," Jared countered.

"Touché." Jensen saluted with his glass and took the pills. His eyes were watering so he closed them, dug his handkerchief out of his breast pocket and dabbed away the tears. The book he'd been reading was a large bound book printed in Braille. Jensen laid his hands on the page again, and moved his fingers along the raised bumps until he reached the end of the paragraph.

"Can I ask a question about your glasses?" Jared asked.

"You can ask me anything. If I don't want to answer, I'll tell you." 

"So, what about your glasses?"

That struck Jensen funny. He barked a laugh and snorted through his nose.

" _Gross_." Jared laughed, but Jensen doubted that anything gross came out of the snort.

"What about my glasses?" Jensen pretended to wipe his nose on his sleeve.

"I noticed you weren't using them to read with right now." Jared patted the book. "So what are they for?"

"These glasses have what are called _high index_ lenses. They do give me some correction. Not so long ago, they would've been those coke bottle glasses with thick, thick lenses. But theses thin lenses can bend a lot of light. They don't give me clear details, but they help me find the edges."

Jensen closed his eyes then blinked them open. "They give me a headache if I wear them for too long, though."

"I like to write." Jared blurted. "I can paint, but I also like to write."

"Okay. That makes you talented all around. Good with numbers, good with colors, good with words. Can you sing, too?" 

"No, but I read somewhere that you can." Jared leaned back and raised his long arms up and deliberately folded his hands behind his head. Jensen appreciated the big, wide gestures Jared made around him. Jared was learning.

Jensen leaned in conspiratorially, "Don't believe everything you read, kid."

Jared threw his head back and laughed. 

"What? I don't believe everything _I_ read." Jensen was confused and ran back the previous couple of sentences of conversation back to see what tickled Jared so thoroughly. 

"You keep calling me 'kid' and 'kiddo.' How old do you think I am?" Jared's voice was gleeful, but then he went serious. "Jensen, how old _do_ you think I am? What do I look like to you?"

"It's not so much what you look like. I'm sorry, I guess _I_ should have done the math. You said you were a senior in college when you changed majors and you would've been a grad student if you hadn't, and that was a few years ago, so you _can't_ be a kid now."

"No, forget the math. What do I look like—or rather, what do you see when you look at me?"

Many times in his life, Jensen had been asked what things looked like to him, but this time he ached to let Jared know. 

"Here, come close, I'll tell you."

"No. Right here, across from your desk, this is as close as I usually am from you. I don't want to give myself away just yet."

"Okay. You don't look like anything, except when you're wearing red." Jensen tried to pass that explanation off as the answer, but the blurred bundle of energy across his desk didn't move.

"Jared, I can't see you, not really. To me, you're a body and a head with hair. I have to use my vision differently in order to tell that you are _you_."

"So tell me," Jared's voice bubbled excitedly. "Like how?"

Jensen heard the earnest timbre to Jared's voice and knew that this question was more than idle curiosity. Jared wanted to know how Jensen saw _him_.

"I know it sounds like I'm full of myself, but tell me how you see me." Jared voice smiled. "Then, I'll show you what I look like."

"You'll probably cheat."

"I won't. Cross my heart," Jared said.

"Well, I use what I see of you as clues or puzzle pieces to form your image in my mind. These are some of your puzzle pieces." Jensen moved his hands for emphasis. "Obviously, I see that you're taller than most people, but more than that, I see how you walk, your cadence, your posture. I watch your movements and try to match them, I mean, I see you move your arm up, but I don't know if you're running your hand through your hair, rubbing your face, or just airing out your armpit, but I do see you move your arm up regularly. So I try to match the gesture to what's going on and when you do it. Does that make sense?"

"For the record, I'm not airing out my armpit."

"Noted." Jensen squinted hard at Jared. "I see you have dark hair and it's long, because it contrasts with the light colored shirts you usually wear. I see you have endless energy because something on you is always moving. I don't always know what you're moving—arm, leg, torso—but all of you seems to be in constant motion. Your way, I don't know how else to say it, but your way is youthful. Childlike in your enthusiasm, like the happy sounds you make when you're painting, the way you bounce when you're sitting _and_ standing. I forget math when I look at you. Does that answer anything?"

"Do you want to see me up close?" Jared sounded a little nervous.

"I'll have to be right up on you to see anything and I would need to touch you." Jensen flexed and extended his fingers. "Would that be all right? It won't be rough."

Jensen thought he heard a gasp, but that made no sense.

"Sure, you can touch me. Tell me how you want me." 

"I can see clearly in a two by two by two area," Jensen said. "For example, if my eyes are two inches away from the page, I can read a two inch by two inch square, if the font is at least fourteen point. That's why I use a magnifying glass. Also, I have to focus on each word, with my neck angled just so, which makes me have to move the page and not my head or I'll have to stop and refocus."

"It must have taken forever to read my resume."

"Not _quite_ forever." Jensen smiled. "In order to see you, I'll be hovering two inches in front of your face, right up in your personal space, noting every whisker you missed shaving, every pore and blackhead, and smelling everything you had for breakfast. Even then, I'll only have bits and pieces of your face and I'll have to slot them together. I'll come over to you. Are you ready?"

"Yes. No!" Jared suddenly jumped out of his chair. " _Wait_."

Jared wiggled and shimmied in a way Jensen couldn't begin to fathom. A paper crinkled and then a slow waft of wintergreen blew by, showing that Jared got hold of a breath mint or some chewing gum. 

"Okay, now I'm ready." Jared sat in profile, absolutely motionless.

Trailing his fingers on his desktop, Jensen came around to Jared's side "So," Jensen's nose grazed Jared's shoulder. "I see that you're wearing a white shirt with pink paisley print and pink and white stripes in the background." He looked up. "I would never have guessed you for paisley."

Jared harrumphed. "Tomorrow, it'll be a floral print that will make you cry."

"Shut up and sit still." Jensen nudged Jared's shoulder. 

"Yes, that's good. When I get this close," Jensen was so close to Jared's nose that he bumped into it as he spoke. "I can see clearly. Or at least that two inch square piece of skin across your cheek. Jensen moved his head as he spoke, "Your beard is reddish, and your sideburns are throwbacks from the sixties."

"Seventies. Mine are from the seventies." Jared laughed and a dimple appeared in his right cheek. 

"I stand corrected." Jensen passed the pad of his thumb over Jared's lower lip and then touched the deep crease in Jared's cheek. "You have a dimple."

"I have two." Jared's hand cupped the back of Jensen's head, his fingers carding gently through Jensen's hair. Jensen held his breath.

"Is this okay," Jared asked, softly. 

Jensen leaned into Jared's hand. "Someday, I'd like to look you over, one square inch at a time."

He felt Jared tremble under his hands.

"I know you probably can't believe this," Jared said through his teeth, obviously trying not to move his jaw, "but nobody's ever said that to me before."

"Funny, I say it all the time."

Jared's smile fell, just a little. Jensen was close enough to see Jared's eyes—hazel he now knew—loose a bit of their brightness.

'Gotta work on him,' he thought. Jared was more sensitive to his blindness than Jensen realized. Unless it was that Jared didn't like the idea of Jensen being this close to someone else.

Jensen ran his fingertips over the cleft in Jared's chin, gently turning his head to the side, eying Jared's jawline. Jensen's lips were close enough to skim the soft reddish stubble.

"Hey, wait." Jared's hand fell away from Jensen's hair.

"I'm sorry," Jensen stepped back quickly. "I know that touching someone's face is invasive."

"No, no, it's not that. I like you touching me. I like it a lot," Jared took in a big, shaky sigh. "It's just, I have an idea." 

Jared stood, shuffled and fiddled for a minute, until a phone was placed into Jensen's hand. "Can you see me now?"

Jensen saw a picture shining from the screen of Jared's phone. Jensen brought the phone up and, by tilting his head and pinching his fingers, he was able to focus on the image. Jared's smiling face stared at him from the Smart phone.

"That's a recent picture," Jared said, brightly. "A buddy of mine took it right after Aldis called to say I was an apprentice contender." 

Jensen flushed as he stared Jared's picture. He thought that Jared was probably good looking, but now that he was able to see what he looked like, he realized that "good looking" didn't come close. Jared was exquisite. And definitely _not_ a kid. 

"Wow, Jared. You, you're…"

"I'm what?" Big, blurry Jared asked.

Jensen blinked several times and said, evenly, "You're a lot older than I thought you were."

"I'm still younger than you are, old man." 

"Well, you clean up good." Jensen took a final glance at Jared's picture and handed the phone back. "Kiddo."

 

"Don't sell yourself short." Jared held his phone up. "Say cheese." Jensen smiled for the camera.

"I don't know how often you hear this," Jared said, softly, "but you are extremely attractive." 

"Not often enough." Jensen knew his cheeks and neck were blushing pink. 

Jared held his phone open to the picture he had just taken. Jensen focused in on his own image and furrowed his brows.

"What?" Jared asked.

"It's been a while since I saw myself up close. I'm a lot older than _I_ thought." Jensen took one more look and closed Jared's phone. 

"You're gorgeous," Jared whispered. 

Jared's knuckles brushed Jensen's hand as he took his phone back. "So gorgeous, you have no idea." There was a growl under Jared's voice that caused Jensen to sweat and shiver at the same time. 

"Takes one to know one, apprentice," Jensen turned slowly. He hadn't realized how close he was standing to Jared, and backed up two quick steps.

"I'm sorry." Jared said quickly. Now he was the one blushing brightly from hairline to collar. "I'm sorry if I did anything inappropriate."

"If you did, I did." Jensen walked to his side of the desk, composing himself. Then he smiled at Jared and said, "Would you smile for me? Like in the picture?" Jensen leaned toward Jared. "Please?"

"Smile for you? Any time." He planted his hands on Jensen's desk and bent forward. Jared's face lit up with a wide, toothy smile.

"I can see you now." Jensen tipped his head to the side, attempting to transpose the clear lines he saw on the snapshot to the blurry image in front of him. "Not clearly, but because I know how you look—I know how you look."

"Do you like what you see?" 

"Umm hum," Jensen hummed, edging closer. "I may have to change my policy about not making you wait on me."

"I wish you would." Jared's smile never faltered. He leaned further over the desk until they were nose to nose, and his voice went low. "I'm yours to command."

Behind Jared, the door to the office banged opened. Aldis was carrying what looked like folders or books in both hands.

Jensen startled and Jared backed away from the desk.

"Am I interrupting something?" Aldis asked.

"That was quite an entrance, Aldis." 

Jensen looked down at the intercom on his desk. He was told that a tiny green light indicated when the com was in use, with an open line to his assistant's desk. The com line could be opened by either Jensen or Aldis. 

Jensen couldn't see lights or colors that small because they disappeared into the background. The intercom could have been on with Aldis listening in. If so, that would have been a severe breach of privacy. Or severe paranoia on Jensen's part. After all, Jensen had been flirting unabashedly with his apprentice. 

"Sorry, I ran out of hands. When you're done scheduling, I need to talk to you about the revised contract for the commissioned mural for the U.S. Bank Center in Milwaukee." Aldis shuffled his load from one arm to the other, and placed a sheath of papers on Jensen's desk. "They found a glitch in the paperwork." 

" _Another_ revised contract?" Jensen breathed in through his nose. "Get the lawyers in on the Milwaukee problem. Talk to me when it's all ironed out. That whole project has been a pain in my ass since the beginning. I thought a mural of that scale would be an exciting challenge, now I'm regretting every minute I've wasted with them. If they have any more questions about my time, my terms, my methods or my commission, tell the law team to end the deal." He looked around for Jared.

"Also," Aldis continued. "You wanted to donate a piece to the _Wounded Warrior Project_. Let me know which one, if that's still your plan."

"That's still the plan. As far as which one," Jensen spotted movement somewhere behind Aldis. "I'd like Jared to handle that. I'll let him get back to you on which painting he thinks should go to the Wounded Warriors."

It took Aldis a split second too long before he said, "Sure thing, boss."

"Do you need anything else this morning? We have work to do." Jensen waved his hand between himself and Jared.

"Nope, it's all good," Aldis said, before shutting the office door gently behind him.

"Is everything okay?" Jared asked.

"I don't know. I really don't." Jensen smiled, weakly. "Let's go ahead and get our schedules down. I'd like you to have some solo time in the studio, while I clean up some things in the business department." He glanced at the door Aldis just exited.

"Also, I want your input on two of the paintings I'm unveiling at the show. One of them is incomplete. I've already mentioned this one to you. I'll set them up in the gallery so you can preview them. Plus, if it's okay with you, I'd like you to pick out three or four of your paintings to sit with mine in the gallery lighting. I want to see how they mesh together."

Jared was strangely silent.

"Jay?"

"I can't believe…" Jared voice was tight and Jensen heard him swallow. "I would be honored, Jensen. Totally honored."

"Stop it. Just say 'okay.'"

Jared stepped into the light. "Okay, I'll stop it, but I'm still honored." 

Jensen barely heard when Jared whispered, "God, I'm so lucky."

"Isn't there some kind of rule that says you shouldn't accept an interview with an art critic who's going to be reviewing your next show?"

By Jensen's count, Jared drove into the second rotary they've encountered so far. 

Jensen smiled, nervously. "No, no rule about giving interviews, although I think there might be some serious frowning if I offered Misha an expensive piece of artwork in return for a good review."

"Misha? You call the art critic D.T. Collins, Misha?" 

"I know. How he went from D.T. to Misha, I'll never know. But that's what he calls himself, so I go along with him."

"No, Jensen, what I mean is…"

"Watch the road." Jensen raised his shaking hand at the windshield. "I know what you mean! I know what you mean!"

"Not my fault," Jared mumbled under his breath, into Jensen's ear. "Roundabouts are damn stupid."

"They're called _rotaries_ , and they are part of the culture around here, so suck it up. And for Christ's sake, learn how to navigate them."

Jared gently veered right, exiting the rotary after the second go around. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry." Jensen calmed after his brief attack of nerves. "Anyway, yes, I call him Misha because we've known each other for ten years. I consider him a friend, but we both know the boundaries of that friendship."

Jared swerved but didn't quite make it around the pothole, if the bouncing of the car was any indication. Jensen clutched the handhold by the passenger's side door and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Jensen. Honestly, I'm trying to _avoid_ the bumps in the road. Don't worry, the traffic is letting up. We're almost there."

Jensen nodded and opened his eyes. He turned toward Jared's profile, "How much longer, do you think?"

Jared kept his head forward saying, "Barring any more evil rotaries, seven to ten minutes. Tell me some more about D.T. Collins."

Jensen leaned back. "That's all right, you don't have to distract me."

"Apparently I do. Want to tell me why you hate cars?"

"No."

"Yes."

"All right." Jensen shifted uncomfortably. "I, uh, did something dazzlingly stupid when I was a teenager. All teenagers do stupid things."

"Yeah," Jared drawled. "But some things are stupider than others. You do one of them stupider ones?"

"Yes, but nobody was hurt."

"Well, that's good. We're taking a sharp left here."

Jensen grasped the handhold and the car took the left with a gentle sway. After the turn, Jensen spoke. "It was the middle of the night, and my friend Christian and I were really drunk."

"Okay, yeah, that's teenage stupid. And?" Jared prodded. 

"And I took us both for a joy ride in my dad's truck."

Jared gasped, but the car remained steady. "Jesus, Jensen. Jesus."

"I wanted to know what it felt like to drive, since Chris always said it was fun. It wasn't fun. We got lost and I totaled the truck when I ran off the road and crashed grill first into a ditch."

"You said nobody got hurt, right?"

"I got knocked out for a minute, but we were both fine, although I didn't know it at first. Like I said, it was dark and after I came to, I couldn’t see. I thought I was blinded in the crash. I was still too drunk to realize it was drunk-in-the-middle-of-the-night dark, not _forever blind_ dark. The accident scared me, and made my mom and dad cry."

"Is this Christian still around somewhere? 'Cause I'm gonna kick his ass."

"You will leave Chris's ass alone when he visits at Christmas." Jensen breathed in. "Because I made _his_ mother and dad cry, too. After that, I got spooked every time I rode in any kind of vehicle. I used to be a lot worse than just shouting at the driver to watch the road. The good thing is I do get used to other people's driving. I'm already getting used to yours, so any day now I'll stop strangling your handhold."

"I'll be more careful."

"You're doing fine," Jensen said. 

Jared pressed the accelerator gently but he was muttering, 'Jesus Christ' under his breath.

"Are we there yet?" Jensen asked in a kid-like way.

"You were saying something about D.T. Collins."

"No, _you_ were asking about Misha," Jensen corrected.

Jared let out a breathy chuckle. "You're right. Tell me about Misha Collins."

"He's an unusual mix of intelligence, charm, and batshit crazy. Don't be put off by him." Jensen paused. "Or frightened by him. Trust me, he's harmless."

"I don't know." Jared stopped for a red light. "I've read his reviews and some of them are downright ruthless. He seems to like most of your work, though."

"He's been very generous with his support. I wonder, though, after all these years, if he can still be objective when it comes to my art. At least I won't have that worry with Mark Pellegrino, the other art critic scheduled to attend _Sky High_."

"Shit, Jensen, Pellegrino never likes anything." Jared eased through the green light. 

"Actually, he likes quite a lot. He and I have similar opinions on much of the artwork and artists out there. Many of his insights are right on the money as far as I'm concerned."

Jared turned left. "I think he's a stuck-up snob." He maneuvered into a parking space and set the brake. "We're here, let me come around."

Jensen collected his sweater, a small duffle, and his cane as Jared opened the passenger side door. 

The building where Misha Collins worked proudly proclaimed the title and tagline: _I Am Every Man_ —Art on the Edge, Around the Corner and Across the Street 

"I've never been here before," Jared said, locking the car. He turned toward the building entrance. "I hope you know where we're going."

Jensen nodded. "No worries. Follow me." He placed the red tip of the white cane on the black asphalt and headed for the shiny blue front door.

"Jensen!" D.T. "Misha" Collins jumped off his desk and sprinted to the open door in a frenzy of yellow and purple. "Good to see you. Can you see me?"

Jared hissed his displeasure, but Jensen merely held out his hand to shake Misha's.

"Good to be here, Mish. Thanks for letting us do this at your place instead of mine. The studio isn't open to the public and my gallery is getting set up for the exhibition. Even _you_ don't get a sneak peek."

Misha snickered and turned to Jared. "You are Apprentice Jared T. Padalecki, right? Is the Boy Wonder here driving you crazy by moving his stuff around every night?"

"Mr. Ackles doesn't drive me crazy." Jared said, evenly.

"Down boy," Misha scoffed. "Hey, I've seen some of your stuff, too, and you're good. I've got my eye on you for the future."

Jensen held his breath and waited for it.

"Kinda like Jenny does." Misha jumped up and clapped. 

Jensen pointed his finger at Misha. "You call me Jenny, I call you Meeshy."

"Ugh." Misha casually nudged Jensen with his right elbow. "You win, Mistah Ackles." Misha imitated Jared's accent. "You are such a tight ass sometimes."

Jensen touched Misha's proffered elbow and Misha lead him to one of the overstuffed chairs in front of his desk. Jensen could see the chairs, but allowed Misha to take him there anyway. He figured it would calm Jared down a bit, as he could feel angry vibes coming off of him toward Misha. Misha Collins was an acquired taste, and a dear friend.

"So, tell me," Misha hopped back up on the desk facing Jensen. "What am I going to see next month?"

Jensen settled back in the comfy chair and Jared stood beside the matching chair next to him. 

"Well, I'll tell you _some_ of what you'll see." He waved Jared to sit, sat back and crossed his legs. "The rest will have to be a surprise. I have three of my best known pieces back from where they were on loan to the Baltimore Museum of Art."

"Is one of them _The Colors of My Life_?" Misha never looked like he wrote anything down. Jensen would have to ask Jared how Misha recorded information.

"Yeah. My _Colors_ are home now."

Misha went into friendly interviewer mode. "The name of your next show is called _Sky High_. Why? Will there be lots of paintings with fluffy white and blue clumps depicting your version of skies around the world?" 

He heard Jared snicker. 

"Well," Jensen answered, demurely. "There might be one or two pictures of skies, but there are a lot of _different_ blues."

Misha chuckled. His voice was soft and kind when he asked, "So, why _Sky High_ , artman?"

"Why _Sky High_." Jensen paused, choosing his words. "I call it _Sky High_ because that's where we, as artists, reach. Artists in all mediums—writers, craftsmen, actors, dancers, singers, musicians, composers—all artists put ourselves out there. We put these vulnerable, precious, pieces of our soul on display, exposed to strangers to either crash and burn or soar sky high."

"So true, Jen. So true."

"And you know what else, Misha, it's not only artists who give all they got and put their talents out there. It's every nurse, every teacher, every carpenter, gardener, policeman, and," he turned to Jared, "every rocket scientist, _everyone_. You better believe they all reach sky high."

"Especially the rocket scientist," Misha said, solemnly. 

Jensen was pleased to hear Jared laugh out loud.

"I'm with you on that, brother," Misha said. " _Sky High_. I'm looking forward to it. For the record, I've never once seen you crash and burn."

Jensen and Misha shared a contented moment steeped in their mutual history.

Then, Misha turned to Jared. "So, how do you like the apprentice gig? You get to watch the master at work. Do you ever get to see him at play?"

Jared met the question with stony silence.

"Jared T.?" Misha encouraged. "You still here?" 

"Mr. Collins, this isn't a _gig_. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to observe and learn from one of the greatest artists in this genre. Mr. Ackles has generously consented to take me on as his apprentice for an indeterminate amount of time, and I am deeply honored to be with him for however long he'll have me."

"Way to get around answering a direct question, Padapprentice. I'd be a little cranky with you if I hadn't seen how goddamned talented you are. You got something good going there, big guy. Your work has something to say, your style is impressive and you have a crazy amount of talent. You are one lucky dog, under the wing of the great J. Ackles. Keep up the good work, study hard with the man here, and you could be seeing your name up in lights someday."

Jared deliberately turned toward Jensen. Jensen was too far away to see Jared's face, but he heard when Jared said, "Padapprentice?"

Misha raised both arms high. "It was the best I could do at the moment. I really wanted to say, _Show me your gesso, you tall, dark, hombre, you_." 

"Don't you think your wife would mind, Misha?" Jensen asked, innocently.

"Oh, baby, I _know_ she wouldn't." Misha made slurping sounds.

Jensen noticed Jared's legs bouncing nervously and steered the conversation back around. "I have been very pleased with Jared's work. He's been a challenge and a pleasure, not only to teach, but to learn from. Jared has a unique freedom of style, and exuberance of expression. He paints joyously. However, you'll be able to judge that for yourself. I'm, uh, I’m giving Jared the opportunity to show his works with mine. I mean, if he wants to."

"What did you say?" Jared was stunned.

"What did you say?" Misha repeated.

"I hope you don't think it's presumptuous of me, Jay, but I was hoping you would exhibit some of your paintings at the _Sky High_ exhibition. That's why I cleared the alcove."

Jared was silent, but his head was turned in Jensen's direction. "Is that why you said I could paint the alcove any color I wanted? So I could show my paintings there?" 

"I, uh," Jensen swallowed a couple of times to get some moisture going—he knew he shouldn't have sprung it on Jared like this, but, oh well. "I was hoping you'd agree to show your works alongside mine. Our forms are different but complementary to each other."

Jared got up and squatted down in front of Jensen. "You would allow me to show my paintings with yours?"

Jensen nodded, dumbly.

"I can't believe this. I had no idea. I wouldn't even think to _have_ that idea." Jared dropped his head, humbly. "I'm flattered, Jensen. It would be a privilege."

"Good, I'm glad that's taken care of." Misha was back in interviewer mode. "So, Master Artist Ackles, why _did_ you take on an apprentice?" 

Jared sat back down, wordlessly. 

"I'm going to give you an honest answer, Mish," Jensen said. "It's not the only answer, but it's an honest one. I brought Jared aboard because I saw something compelling in his art. Something wonderful. I'm not here to make him match my style, or to trade out his vision for mine, but I realize that I have something to offer him. With my tutelage, I believe I can help him express himself in ways that will surprise us all." 

Jensen nodded. "I believe he will go sky high."

The interview lasted over an hour, with Misha offering fancy pastries, oddly flavored coffees and rumor mill gossip and news interspersed with actual interview questions.

Jensen thought that being around Jared's kinetic energy all day would make him immune to Misha's frenetic energy, but he was wrong. Though he was mentally exhausted, he had to admit, it was fun. 

"He's a good friend of yours, I can tell." Jared walked a couple of steps in front of Jensen, heading back to the car. "And, despite the fact that he's a raging maniac, he genuinely loves your work."

Jensen slid his cane smoothly on the pavement, not needing to touch Jared but taking his elbow anyway. "He's been reviewing art for as long as I've been creating it. We kind of grew up together."

Jared stood Jensen up against the passenger-side door. "What you said about me and then offering to show my paintings? That was amazing. Thank you. I hope to live up to your expectations." 

Jensen looked into Jared's vague, imprecise features, imagined the hazel eyes and dimples, and said, "You're welcome. You already have." He patted Jared's shoulder fondly, and then climbed in.

~~*~~*~~

~~*~~*~~

~~*~~*~~

**THREE**

~~*~~*~~

Part Five— _And fill them till they overflow  
With rose and cherry red._  


~~*~~*~~

Jensen got to the studio early. He'd sent Jared home last night without giving instructions for what he wanted set up for today. Jensen hoisted a canvas and set it on a bright yellow display easel. Bright yellow was a color he could see well. He had draped yards of deep purple velvet over the canvas.

Most of his paintings were around forty-five inches by forty five, but this one was smaller, measuring forty inches by thirty-six. 

He was setting up his commissioned sky paintings for this exhibit: _The Dawn Bringer,[ Saranyu](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saranyu)_ was the sunrise, and _The Light Stealer,[ Yarikh ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yarikh)_ , the one under the cloth, was Jensen's sunset. The commission he received for these two would allow him to hang up his brushes and live more than comfortably for the rest of his young life—if it came to that.

Jensen was about to do something he knew was incredibly self-indulgent and potentially dangerous. If anyone found out what Jensen was going to ask Jared to do, it could get messy, but that was a risk he was willing to take.

_The Light Stealer_ was more than his greatest work of art, it was his greatest fear and eventual certainty, and Jensen wanted it shared with the one who agreed to carry on after him. _Yarikh_ was to be shown to the world, but only the two of them would know the secret embedded within the brush strokes. 

_The Light Stealer, Yarikh_ could quite possibly be Jensen's swan song and, after weighing the risks, this was how he wanted to pass the torch.

Jensen heard a soft knocking on the studio door before it opened. Jared stood in the doorway, dressed in black and white. 

"Am I too early?" Jared's soft accent floated in the air.

"No, I was too early." Jensen motioned for Jared to come all the way in. "Shut the door, there's something I want you to see."

"Is this the one you want me to help you finish?" Jared asked, as he clicked the door closed. "I can't believe you'd let me put my paint anywhere near your paintings."

"Technically, it's my paint, but I know what you're saying." Jensen was finding it difficult to control his emotions. He was about to show Jared his bravest painting yet. While he wanted Jared's thoughts and impressions about _The Light Stealer_ , Jensen's protective artist's heart did not want to share even the tiniest piece of it with anyone. 

But, if Jensen's art were to continue, Jared needed to learn Jensen's colors, brush strokes and techniques. Standing side by side, brushes in hand, was the only way Jared could acquire those skills. Without any doubt, Jared could handle the technical aspects of mimicking Jensen's brush on canvas, but Jensen knew with even greater certainty that Jared would _understand_ Jensen's way.

"Are you ready?" Jensen took up his medium sized magnifying glass in one hand, and fingered the veil covering the painting with the other. "You have to give me an honest critique. That's one of the things you signed up for." 

"I promise," Jared's voice rumbled with excitement as he fidgeted next to Jensen.

Jensen put his glasses on, and with his eyes fixed squarely on Jared, said, " _The Light Stealer, Yarikh_." He lifted the cloth. 

Jared gasped and staggered backwards a step. One of his hands flew to his face and his breathing went ragged.

Jensen bit his bottom lip and waited for Jared to say something. He couldn't tell if Jared was delighted or appalled.

Jared, contrary to his nature, stood stock still as though his feet were drilled into the floor. Finally, Jared coughed gently, bent his head and said softly to the floor, "It's magnificent."

Jensen let out a relieved breath, "Well, okay, then. With your body language, it could have gone either way."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, it's just," Jared stuttered, "I can't even, Jensen. Give me a minute."

Jensen swayed foot to foot while Jared paced, facing _Yarikh_ the entire time. Then Jared wandered to the far back of the gallery and simply stood. His silence was unnerving. Slowly, Jared began creeping around the studio, finally perching himself up on a high stool at the extreme left periphery of the painting. 

"This piece," Jared nodded his head slowly and deliberately. "This work is absolutely brilliant. You have blended colors that typically contrast harshly, creating a conflict of harmony that's both disturbing and resplendent." Jared paused again, with his hands on or near his face.

"Your use of a smaller than usual canvas—although this is not a small painting—makes this image more intimate to the viewer. Instead of _Yarikh_ swiping the sun away on a grand scale, the sun's last rays radiate intimately from the canvas, letting each one of us have our own, final view of your fading daylight. 

"The colors are vivid, beautiful and sad." Jared huffed a laugh. "I'm shaking here, I'm so sad--because those colors are never coming back." 

Jared turned to Jensen. "No one but you could have created this. No one else could have put the reverence, the love, and the sanctity into colors that we will never, ever see again."

"You humble me with your praise, Jay. I mean that. It means everything coming from you." Jensen grasped Jared's wrist and rubbed small circles with his thumb over Jared's pulse point. "You do understand."

Jared faced Jensen, twisted his hand within Jensen's grip until they were palm to palm, fingers entwined. "You are amazing." Jared whispered. "Everything about you is amazing. You create something this intense, and then allow me to learn how you did it. This is more than I hoped for in one lifetime. But I'm greedy, Jensen." Jared leaned into Jensen's face and removed his glasses letting Jensen's eyes wander over his features. "So, so greedy."

Jensen used his left hand to trace the lines of Jared's face. Jared's hairline, his nose, the dimples in his cheeks and the cleft in his chin. "I'm afraid of how important you're becoming to me," Jensen admitted. 

"You don't know how frightened _I_ am. With the wrong twist of my wrist, I could mar your masterpiece."

"You won't. I _know_ you won't." Jensen leaned up, a wisp away from Jared's lips. "I won't let you."

"Tell me what to do. Whatever you want from me I'll do it." Jared voice was thin. "Anything."

"You sure?" Jensen breathed into Jared's ear.

Jared shivered. "Yes." 

"Good." Jensen boldly grazed his teeth against Jared's ear lobe. 

Jared gasped, reaching his hand out. Jensen took Jared's hand, placed a paint brush in it and smiled brilliantly.

After two deep breaths, Jared said, "You fucking tease."

"Are you complaining?" 

"Not in a million to the millionth power years," Jared snickered.

Jensen raised an eyebrow.

"That's a hell of a lot of years," Jared explained.

Jensen pointed to the lower left hand side of the _Yarikh_. There were about six square inches of the canvas that had only one layer of color outside of the primer. "Here, here's where you'll help me finish. Are you ready?"

"I don't know," Jared laughed, helplessly.

"Don't worry, we'll practice first." Jensen pointed to a well-lit, primed, but unpainted practice canvas. He handed Jared two more brushes with sable bristles to add to the one already in Jared's hand. "I used all three of these brushes on this painting. Once you get my technique down, your brush strokes will match mine exactly, and Jared, your technique is already so close it's scary."

Jared's hands shook as he reverently brushed the bristles against his fingertips.

Jensen touched his brush to the canvas upon which they were practicing, pressed the vermilion filled bristles with just the right pressure and swirled the color up. He gripped and squeezed Jared's wrist. "This hard. Press the paint with this much force."

Jared worked on matching Jensen's brush strokes tirelessly by imitating the pressure of the bristles on the canvas, his grip on the brush, the correct twist of the wrist and fingers, loading the exact amount of paint onto the brush, lingering the same amount of time with bristles to canvas. Over and over until the sun was high in the sky and then waning again.

Jensen leaned into Jared's latest brush strokes, peering through his magnifying glass, examining Jared's work and comparing it to his own. A lump unexpectedly formed in his throat as he realized that they were identical. He set the magnifier down and said, "You've got it. You're ready. Let's do this."

"Jesus." Jared made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a gulp. "Okay," his voice shook. "Okay, let's do this." 

Jensen stood in front of his sunset, dappled some paint onto his brush and, with a deft and practiced turn of his wrist made a small, upward swipe. Jared followed with his brush. Jensen swooped his color on the canvas and Jared stroked his color beside. They flowed one after the other, within six square inches, they must have worked in several hundred small streaks and whorls. Jensen dabbed the canvas and held the brush, then pulled back sharply and nodded at Jared. Jared placed his color, pressed his brush, held it for an instant and pulled it away in an almost savage movement.

It was done. 

Jared's brush shook so violently, that even Jensen could see it quivering as he raised it aloft in triumph. Paint colored Jared's sleeves, wrists, knuckles and hands. 

Jensen reached for the magnifying glass and inspected their work. He nodded, replaced the glass, dropped his brush into the solvent, and turned toward Jared.

"They match. We match."

Jared held his brush out to Jensen and when Jensen grabbed hold, Jared pulled Jensen to him.

"This is the best, most important day of my life, and I will never be the same." Jared's voice was low. "I can't believe what we just did. I've never been as terrified as I am right now."

"Why terrified?" Jensen's lips glided close to Jared's cheek.

"I'm afraid that my life's experiences have now peaked and that it's all going to be downhill from here." Jared's breath was hot and sweet on Jensen's face. "Look what you have done, and what I had a tiny part in helping you do." Jared lifted one arm in awe toward _Yarikh_ , and encircling Jensen's waist with the other, tugged him closer. "How can it get any better?" Jared dipped his lips to Jensen's neck. 

"I'm scared, too," Jensen bared his neck and Jared accepted the invitation by trailing soft kisses across his jaw and down his throat. In the circle of Jared's arms he whispered, "But for a whole different reason." 

Jensen pulled back, ducked his head, and stared into Jared's face searching out his features, zeroing in on his lips. As Jensen licked his lips and leaned in, mock coughing came from the open studio door. The door Jensen had asked Jared to close.

Aldis stood with his hands on his hips, his head tilted to the side. 

Jared pulled away sharply, as though Jensen was fire in his arms. 

Jensen took two deep breaths to steady himself before saying, "What is it, A? We're finishing, uh, something important."

"I see that," Aldis said, dryly. "Sorry. There was no Do Not Disturb sign on the door knob, and I don't remember the last time I had to ask permission before entering your studio. Shall I come back?"

Jensen sighed, "A knock would have been all I needed. We're pretty much done here except for the clean-up. What do you need?"

"You specifically told me to let you know when things were ironed out with the Milwaukee project." Aldis appeared to be waiting.

Jensen raised both arms, palms up. "And?"

"And," This time Aldis sighed and began again. "The deal with the U.S. Bank Center in Milwaukee has fallen through. They've been real assholes about micromanaging a project that was yours to control. I referred all their complaints and "suggestions" to your guys Morgan, Murray and Associates, and your lawyers finally said enough was enough. 

"The good news is, your attorneys have seen to it that you keep your retainer fee. They convinced the Milwaukee folks that they would be found to be in breach of contract if they contested it, because they've kept every piece of correspondence demonstrating that Milwaukee has been trying to impose their will on your mural since the git-go. Some of it bordered on extortion. At least that's what your law guys threatened them with. You know, bullshit stuff like threatening to pull out of the contract, fire you, delay your start date, change your completion date, etc. etc. if you didn't see things their way. None of those things would've been such a big deal if they weren't such assholes. Anyway, it was specifically stated in the original contract that you, and you alone, were sole creative director, and now _they_ can take a flying leap."

"Wow," Jensen said. "After all this, did the bank guys have any response?"

Aldis chuckled half-heartedly, "From what Murray alluded to, it sounded like they may have said something like you were a, "Fucking, snooty, know-it-all, overpaid, arteest."

Jensen laughed. "Huge retainer, no asshole bank guys and no Milwaukee in the winter." Jensen paused. "But, it would have been an awesome project. That mural was going to be twelve feet tall by thirty feet wide. I would have left my mark on the walls of a building that will be standing long after we're dead."

Aldis turned in a large, slow circle, showing Jensen that he was looking around the studio. He stopped and stood squarely in front of _Yarikh_. Aldis's voice softened when he said, "After the world sees this, no one will ever forget you, or your legacy to the art world."

"You're biased," Jensen said. 

"Even so, it's still true." Aldis gave him a quick one-armed hug. 

They shared a comfortable moment before Jensen said, "Go. Send Chad Murray roses and Jeff Morgan some Johnny Walker Blue."

"You got it, boss." Aldis playfully slapped Jensen's shoulder and then closed the door behind him.

Jensen grinned and looked around for Jared.

"Are you hiding back there? We have some cleaning up and celebrating to do. We've just completed the first of, hopefully, many collaborative endeavors."

"He saw us," Jared said from the shadows.

"There was nothing to see…yet." Jensen blinked hard a couple of times. "Could you please come over here where I can at least _try_ to see you?"

Jared appeared at his left elbow. He gently turned Jensen around; Jensen followed willingly. "Don't you care if he sees us do this?" Jared asked, kissing along Jensen's jaw. "Or this?" He kissed up Jensen's neck behind his ear. "Or this?" Instead of more kisses, Jared hovered in front of Jensen, their mouths close enough to share breaths, and waited. 

Jensen took Jared's face between his hands, angled his head, and kissed him with an open mouth, his tongue in hot pursuit. Jared opened wide and let Jensen suck all the air out of his body.

"Does it look like I give a fuck what he saw?" Jensen said, breathlessly. "Check the door. Make sure it's locked this time."

After the lock clicked into place, Jared's arms came around from behind and he sucked on the knob of Jensen's spine, right at his neck. He kissed down the bones of Jensen's back, one at a time, pulled down the collar of his loose, paint-stained shirt, and kissed the tips of his shoulder blades then back up behind his ear. Jared was already hard, pressing his denim clad erection up against Jensen's ass. 

Jensen wasn't sure why he was doing this. Adrenaline, he would chalk it up to adrenaline. And Jared's mouth doing crazy wonderful things to him.

"My studio," Jensen panted as he pushed back against Jared's cock. "My rules."

"And I'll follow them to the letter." Jared's lips sucked deeply at the back of Jensen's neck as he circled his hips. 

Jensen groaned when Jared's hand skirted the waistband of Jensen's boxers. 

"God, I wish the floor wasn't textured concrete," Jared whined softly from the dip at Jensen's shoulder. "It's gonna do a job on my knees."

Jensen snagged the yards of material that had been the veil covering _Yarikh_ and thrust it into Jared's chest. "What kind of job?"

Jared growled low in his throat, wadded up the thick purple velvet, dropped it on the floor and sank to his knees.

"I'm going to suck you off now." Jared's breath came out in bursts. His fingers stilled on Jensen's belt buckle and zipper. "Unless that goes against your rules." 

"Jesus Christ, Jared," Jensen gritted out. "Do it." Jensen arched back as Jared unzipped him and reached in for Jensen's stiffening cock.

Jensen spread his legs and leaned against the work bench behind him. Jared's breath seared Jensen's erection in a good way. "I wish you could see me. I wish you could see my face and how much I want this." Jared nuzzled the hard flesh. "How much I want you." 

Jensen hissed as Jared's hot mouth swallowed him slowly, inch by inch. The background noises faded away, and all that was left were Jared slurping and Jensen gasping.

Jensen tangled his fingers in Jared's hair and tugged on the strands. Jared opened his throat and took him full down, bobbing forward and back as Jensen's hips chased Jared's mouth with every stroke. 

Jared pulled off. His cock-swollen vocal chords sounded husky. "Wanna taste you. Want you shooting down my throat. Want to be hoarse for days." He licked the head of Jensen's cock. "How 'bout you? What do you want?"

"Killin' me here, Jay." Jensen croaked. "I already said, do it." Jensen thrust his hips at Jared's face. Jared smirked aloud and grasped Jensen's shaft, guiding the erect cock through the warm lips that suckled on the head like a popsicle. Jared opened his throat wide and kept swallowing until his forehead bumped Jensen's stomach.

"Christ," Jensen murmured. "Fucking _Christ_." Jared moved, his teeth lightly skimming the thick vein on the underside of Jensen's cock. Jensen snarled and then, Jared's mouth, teeth and tongue became an unstoppable force of nature. 

Jensen garbled incoherently as Jared took the wheel, driving Jensen back hard into the edge of the bench. Jared reared up, never stopping the endless suction. One of Jared's hands let loose of Jensen's hip and slinked up to Jensen's left nipple, rubbing hard until a hard suck and a sharp pinch had Jensen unloading down Jared's throat. 

"Holy, holy, holy," Jensen chanted as he came and came and came. 

After the worst was over, Jared licked the softening penis and stood. Jensen wrapped his arms around Jared's neck, pulled him down, and breathed in deep. He smelled his own come all over Jared and tasted himself on Jared's tongue as he kissed him. 

Jared's arms came around Jensen's waist and Jared lifted him up to sit on the work bench, his lips never breaking contact with Jensen's mouth. There was fumbling and sounds of clothing rumpling, snaps and zippers. Jensen was too lost in his recent orgasm to make out what Jared was doing, but he could guess. Jared nipped hard on Jensen's lower lip, gasped and then moaned in a loud, croaky voice for several seconds before kneeling down hard on the velvet covered concrete. 

Heavy, hitched breathing and loud exhaling were all the sounds Jensen heard until Jared moaned long and low. It was music to Jensen's ears.

"I…stand…corrected," Jared panted. "It's all downhill from _here_."

"Oh, no," Jensen replied, shakily. "You still have much to learn, young grasshopper."

"What did I tell you?" Jared's trembling hands tucked Jensen's soft penis back into his jeans, and patted the zipper tenderly. "Not so young, remember?"

"Thank God." Jensen hopped off the bench, stood on weak legs and fixed his clothes. 

Jared stood and did something with his own clothing. He took in a breath and leaned into Jensen's ear. "We're not stopping here, are we? We're moving forward, right? Because I want to do that again. But on a softer surface next time."

Jensen chuckled, "Blowing your favorite artist wasn't the only thing on your bucket list?"

"Not by a long shot, except..." Jared stuttered to a stop.

"Except what?" Jensen pulled his shirt down to cover his crotch, just in case. 

"Except that I don't want this to be the end of something, I want it to be the beginning."

"Look around you." Jensen's breath was finally evening out. "Look at what we have done today. How can you not know that this is the beginning of something extraordinary?"

"I can if you can." Jared's voice was tentative. His jerky movements matched the nervousness in his voice.

"Awesome, messy, blow jobs aside, Jared, you and I are forging a path together. We're traveling down this same road. Just hang on tight and don't be afraid of what's going to happen. It might be a bumpy ride, but I swear, it'll be worth it."

Jared stood tall, his hands coming to rest on Jensen's hips. "I'm not scared of bumpy rides, and I'm not leaving. Also, my blow jobs will be getting messier and awesomer from now on. Not sorry."

Jensen laughed and said, "Good. All of what you said. Good." He took Jared's hand to lead him out of the studio. "We'll clean this mess up tomorrow."

Jared gripped Jensen's fingers, hesitating to leave, and said, "Wait, wait a few more seconds. I want to remember everything about today. I want to remember the smell of the fresh paint, the sounds outside the studio, the way the light touches your paintings right now." Jared took a breath, and kissed Jensen's temple. "I can't remember ever feeling like this. Thank you." 

After several moments, Jensen spoke softly. "I was working on _Yarikh_ when I lost sight on the left." Jensen touched the corner of his eye. "I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to finish it. I panicked, not only at the loss of vision—that was horrifying enough—but at the potential loss of this work. This is an important day for me, too, because now, Jared, now I know that if I wake up stone blind tomorrow, you will continue my work. I know that my paintings are in good hands. You can't know how much that means to me."

He leaned up and kissed Jared tenderly. "Thank you."

It was Friday afternoon. _Sky High_ was opening tomorrow night. This event was invitation only for Saturday and Sunday, after that the exhibition would be open to the public for the next four weeks. Jensen's paintings would then be going on a tour of their own around the country, and he secretly hoped that Jared's would go along with them. That is, if Jared hadn't sold them all.

Jared's were for sale. Jensen's were either already sold—as in the case of _Saranyu_ and _Yarikh_ —or not available for sale. As in _The Colors of My Life_ and _Primeval Prevailing_. Exhibitions like this were one way that Jensen got commission work.

Jensen was going through his final walk through before the doors opened Saturday evening. Aldis had been hard at work hiring the caterers, managing the guest list, arranging for Jensen's tuxedo to be dry cleaned, mailing invitations and keeping track of the RSVPs. Not one RSVP came back with an "unable to attend." This was going to be a large showing with Jensen's old and new works displayed prominently up front and carefully lit. Jared's works were set up in a place of honor in the large, Mikado yellow alcove in the back. 

Jensen bubbled over with pride for Jared, because, while Jared could match Jensen's strokes, colors and techniques, Jared's vision and style were all his own. All original. All Jared. Jensen knew that he could not break Jared's spirit by teaching him all he could about his own. It was exhilarating. 

Jensen had never shared the stage with another artist. Jared's paintings are the only ones that could stand alongside Jensen's works and not be dismissed or ignored. Jensen, rather than feeling threatened or jealous, felt overwhelming satisfaction that he had found a worthy equal. Jensen didn't know when he had stopped thinking of Jared as his apprentice and started thinking of him as his peer.

Or his partner.

Jensen smiled and walked through the gallery to the alcove. Jared had free reign to display his art anyway he wanted. Initially, Aldis had objected, saying, "This is your show, Jense. That alcove is a sacred place for your _Colors_ , man. Why did you give that spot to Jared?"

"My _Colors_ are the first thing the viewers see when they enter the gallery. I don't think they mind." 

_The Colors of My Life_ was the forty by fifty inch canvas that was Jensen's crowning achievement, the one that thrust him into the spotlight, and the one he loved the most. Jensen had painted this version of the Grand Canyon when he was nineteen years old. He had seen pictures up close of what the canyon actually looked like, but that view was not how it appeared to him when he visited the state park that year. As Jensen had said in his first interview with Misha, "I know what it looks like, but _this_ is how I see it."

The common, over drawn Grand Canyon was now seen through the eyes of someone who literally couldn't see it. It seemed that everyone who viewed this painting experienced Jensen's emotions: the longing he felt and the unbridled need to reproduce the grandeur he saw. It gave insight to this blind man's world of color, grief, and hope. One reviewer claimed _The Colors of My Life_ as "One of the wonders of the modern art world."

To Jensen, this _was_ his world. It surprised him how pleased he was to share it with Jared's happy colors, soaring emotions and deep thoughts expressed so joyfully--and completely in harmony with Jensen's.

He'd said as much to Aldis.

"It's six forty-five." Jared bounced up and down.

"Doors open at seven sharp." Jensen placed a soothing hand on Jared's shoulder.

Jared raised his arms high and shook his head like a wet dog. "It's six forty-six."

Jensen laughed. He was nervous too, but figured that one of them had to keep calm. Jensen wore his black fitted tux with a white shirt and black tie. Aldis was in his charcoal gray three piece suit with a pale blue shirt and silver tie, and Jensen wasn't sure what Jared was wearing. 

"Give me your phone." Jensen nudged Jared's shoulder. Jared's shaking hand handed it over.

"Aldis, take Jared's picture so I can see what he looks like." Jensen gave Aldis the phone. "Jared will return the favor for you and Beth." 

Beth peeked around the corner and emerged with what Jensen figured was the champagne he'd ordered for the occasion. She was blonde, slender, and dressed in silver and black. Jared whistled between his teeth.

"Back off, man," Aldis laughed. "Now, smile."

"Wait, wait." Jared held the exhibition's brochure up as Aldis took the shot.

Jensen's famous, _The Colors of My Life_ was in deep glossy colors on the cover page and underneath: 

The Sky High Exhibition  
Presented by Ackles Art Gallery

New Works and Old Works by  
Jensen Ackles

And introducing a new artist,  
Jared T. Padalecki

Inside were photographs of all of Jensen's display paintings with a blurb, written by Jared, about each one. 

What Jared said was true. He _could_ write.

The last page presented the three paintings Jared was showing tonight.

Aldis fiddled with the phone and framed up Jared's picture for Jensen to see. Jared was wearing an expensive looking maroon colored suit, black shirt—opened at the neck—black handkerchief and shiny black leather boots. And a wide grin.

He looked so damn good that Jensen couldn't stop the low whistle _he_ made.

That seemed to loosen Jared up because he laughed and said happily, "It's six fifty-seven."

"Curtain up." Jensen tapped his cane on the floor. Even though it was his gallery, and he knew every inch, every easel, every uneven spot on the floor, it would be crowded with guests, caterers, security personnel, unfamiliar tables and unexpected obstacles. Hence, the cane.

Jensen moved to stand next to Jared, but Jared stepped back behind him, held onto Jensen's left elbow and whispered, "No, now the master leads the apprentice."

Aldis, with Beth on his arm, opened the doors to the gallery.

Part Six— _The glory of a rainbow,  
I'd put 'em all to shame._  


~~*~~*~~

Jensen stood at the sidelines of his gallery and observed. 

Some were floral: jasmine, lavender and wet honeysuckle. Some were earthy: ocean salt, musk and leather. Some were clean: Tide, Ivory soap, and Listerine. Some were exotic: Ylang Ylang, sandalwood, and ginger.

Floral, Earthy, Clean, Exotic.

Flurries of shifting ambers and corals. A wave of cerulean and aubergine. Charcoal and indigo, cobalt, saffron and ebony. The careful lighting, like the knife or flat brush, mixing the colors, whirling the shades, combining them with the scents of wine and oil paint and expensive chocolates. 

Faceless shadows, moving in gray and white undulations on the floors. Rays of light, fractured by wine glasses and window panes, glittering on the ceiling. 

Gasps of delight, intimate whispers in dark corners, a heavy sigh. Smooth strings, deep cello bass lines and a French horn solo.

Jared, standing in the alcove, laughing loud and joyfully. Jensen's painstakingly aimed spotlights inadvertently illuminating his maroon suit. 

The champagne tasted crisp and dry on his tongue. The little bubbles prickling his nose and upper lip. He breathed them in and licked them down.

A study in black and red appeared in front of him. A woman-scented hand pressed his palm and held on daintily. Her peppermint breath brushed against his chin, speaking in hushed tones of awe and appreciation.

He thanked her.

The empty wine glass was deftly replaced with a full one, and a line of people formed to his right. Smudges of gray and blonde, blots of brown, and a stippling of silver, brunette, and raven black, shifting left to right, as they waited to speak to him. Featureless, unrecognizable until introduced. 

The nasal Boston accent. A southern twang. A British lilt. 

Jared's Texas drawl—noticeable even from across the gallery.

A large hand tucked into his and Jensen turned. Misha said, simply, "You have no idea what this exhibit has just done to the art world, have you?" 

Misha jiggled Jensen's arm once and waded back into the current of scents and sounds and colors that was Jensen's world.

"I think it can't get any better. I think that this, _this_ is where it lets down or worse, where my life comes to a screeching halt. But it hasn't. You've ruined me, Jensen. I see nothing but up from here. My life, your life, our art. God, I'm so lucky."

"It _was_ awesome tonight, wasn't it?" Jensen picked up one of his programs from the floor and laid it carefully on the table top. They stood in the moonlight streaming through the windows of Jensen's studio. 

"I'll never be the same." Jared turned Jensen into his arms. "I don't ever want to be the same."

Jensen hugged him close and whispered, "When I was younger, I was afraid that the only reason art critics and audiences liked my work was because they were thinking, 'Look how well he gets along.' 'Look what a good job he does.' 'Look how hard he works.' I still have an unshakable insecurity about getting the pity vote." 

"I don't believe it," Jared said, holding Jensen and swaying side to side. "I _can't_ believe it. Have you seen _The Colors of My Life_? Did you look at _The Light Stealer_? Because if you did, you would know why we not only admire your talent, but thank all the powers of heaven and earth that you are here to paint for us."

Jensen tightened his hold on Jared and rocked with him. "I never thought I'd be able to trust anyone with the secrets of my work because they are the secrets of my life. All I am, all I know, I've entrusted to you."

"You talk like you're dying." Jared kissed him. "You're going to be around a long, long time. In fact, you're going to be around forever. You've made an indelible mark on this planet."

"I know it's only a matter of time before I lose it all. I want to believe that I've found a way to carry on when that happens. I believe I've found that in you. I can't believe I don't even care that I'm giving it all to you. My works, my gallery, my colors, and…me."

"You?"

"If you're ready."

"My body's ready, but I don't think my soul is worthy." Jared nibbled at Jensen's ear. 

"It's not your soul I want to fuck," Jensen chuckled. "Let's finish the evening by just feeling good."

"I always feel good around you. God, you mean so much to me." Jared licked a line from Jensen's ear to his throat. "And you taste good."

Jensen's breath caught as Jared's teeth grazed his Adam's apple. "I make you feel good, and I’m delicious?" 

"Scrumptious," Jared worked his mouth down Jensen's neck to his collarbone. "Now's a time to warn you, I'm a little drunk so you can't hold my emotional ramblings against me."

"So you're not a mean or stupid drunk, you're an emotional drunk?" He kissed Jared squarely on the lips and sucked on them for a few moments.

"This guy, this guy right here." Jared smacked Jensen's shoulder playfully. "Hey, I love ya, man."

"Oh, yes, that kind of drunk I know." Jensen laughed. His kisses turned wicked as he moved from kissing Jared's lips to nipping bruises down his long, long neck. "Jesus, what you do to me, Jay."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet." Jared moaned, but then he became serious. "I want you to know that while us feeling good is good, what I feel for you is more than just good."

"One step at a time." Jensen unbuttoned Jared's shirt.

"Two." Jared shucked off his maroon jacket and carefully laid it over the chair back.

Jensen kissed a line down Jared's chest. "Two?" 

"You have stairs that go up to your bedroom from here, right?"

"You're right. Two steps at a time." Jensen nibbled Jared's ear. "Let's go."

Jensen led Jared up the back stairs to his living quarters on the second floor. He hadn't had many men up here, but Jared was an extension of Jensen's creativity and the continuation of his art. He hadn't expected or even necessarily wanted this to happen, but, there they were, standing in Jensen's bedroom, lights off, drapes drawn, and no light from anywhere to interrupt them.

"Show me how you have sex, by touch alone."

"No, I won't," Jensen said. "I'll show you how I make love with all the senses I have."

He felt Jared shiver under his fingertips as he guided him to the king sized bed in the middle of the bedroom.

"Can I tell you something, and you won't laugh?" Jensen asked.

Jared took off Jensen's shirt, kissed his across his shoulders and whispered, "I'll try."

Jensen chuckled softly. "I knew, from the first line on your resume, it would be you. I knew you would be the one to keep my art going after I retired."

"No talk of retiring. You haven't even peaked yet. You keep climbing higher and higher." Jared palmed Jensen's right nipple and fingered the left, pinching, rubbing, stroking, and flicking as Jensen writhed at his touch. "You're the most creative, inventive, brilliant artist in the world, and here you are, under my hands." Jared said, with a touch of awe in his voice.

"I could wake up tomorrow, and discover that my career is over. If not for you." Jensen inhaled Jared's scent from under Jared's ear. He licked Jared's collar and whimpered, "Take this off."

Jared complied.

"I'm going to see that your career is never over." With each statement, Jared planted a kiss.  
"You will always be the best this century has seen. With colors, with composition. With subject matter and style. And with crazy, insane painting skillz." 

Jared's lips grazed Jensen's chin, his cheek and his ear. Jared softly kissed Jensen's left eyelid and stroked his hand through Jensen's hair.

"I can't believe you chose me," Jared said. "I can't believe my life." Jared's big hands angled Jensen's head in the dark. "I'm…" Jared's lips must have had their own sonar because they hit Jensen's squarely on target. 

"…so lucky," Jensen finished. "God, Jared, I've let you so far in, I can't get you out."

"Don't even try." Jared gently unzipped the fly of Jensen's tuxedo slacks and stripped them off.

Jensen closed his eyes, even though he didn't need to because the darkness was complete. The sensation of Jared's lips, tongue and mouth had him gasping.

Jared removed all of Jensen's clothing. Then, Jensen felt the heat of skin on naked skin as Jared fitted his long, strong body around him.

Jensen lay flat under Jared, savoring each feather touch of Jared's fingertips, each drop of moisture from Jared's tongue as he worked his way down Jensen's body. 

Then, Jensen smoothed his hands down Jared's chest and belly, fingertips alert for bumps and nubs and the creases of six pack abs, reading every inch he touched. He inched lower and hefted Jared's erection in both hands. Holding tight to the base of Jared's cock, Jensen sucked on his fingers and made an O with his thumb and index finger. He pumped the smooth head of Jared's cock in and out of the tight, spit slick circle of his fingers. 

"Forgive me," Jared pleaded, as though he were in a confessional. 

"Forgive you for what?"

"For wanting you. I've never wanted anything as much as I want you." Jared kissed Jensen deeply took both of Jensen's hands and flipped him over onto his belly. He propped two pillows under Jensen's uncomplaining hips, thrusting his ass into the air.

"Top drawer," Jensen muttered. He heard bumping and fumbling until a drawer slid open. A cool wet slick dripped down his crack, and surrounded his balls. A long, tapered, wet finger pressed into his hole, and Jensen moaned. 

Jared's middle finger slid in next to his index finger and scissored Jensen open in the most intimate way. "So, you'll forgive me?" 

"Yes, yes, you are forgiven, absolved, exonerated, whatever you need to hear from me, but don't stop," Jensen grunted.

"Condom?" Jared panted.

"Also top drawer." 

Jared was three fingers deep and the sensation of fullness satisfying until the fingernail of Jared's middle finger grazed the sweet spot deep inside. Jensen groaned his approval.

The sound of the condom packet ripping, and Jared's low keening, were the only warning Jensen got before the blunt head of Jared's latex covered, pre-lubed cock shoved its way inside.

Jensen tensed, and Jared stilled. Jensen took a deep breath, relaxed his entire body and pushed back into Jared.

Jared let out a loud moan and bucked forward. "So gorgeous, so perfect."

"Go slowly, go softly," Jensen whispered.

Jared gently rocked into Jensen. Jensen grabbed the oak headboard and held on as he was forced up, up, up, on the bed. Jared reached under Jensen and stroked Jensen's wet erection with each thrust. Jensen bent both knees up and out as Jared pounded into him, whimpering nonsense words of affection they'd both forget by morning.

Jensen came first in the warm cocoon of Jared's hands, and then Jared pulsed into the condom deep inside Jensen's body, the pressure almost too painful to be pleasurable. Almost.

Jared pulled out, took a moment, and then stole Jensen's breath. Jared's tongue circled into Jensen's mouth, and Jensen, overcome with post orgasmic high, slipped his tongue in to join Jared's. 

"You scare me, Jensen. I want to lose myself in you and never come back. I've never felt so out of control or so alive as I am when I'm with you."

Jensen knew he was in too way deep, but couldn't help it. "Then, we're together on this ride. Let's see where it takes us." 

Instead of coming up for air and correcting the course of his life, Jensen burrowed into Jared's neck. It felt so damned right and so damned good to have someone take care of him, admire him, and want him, faults, failings, and with only one sighted eye.

This, Jensen thought, might be the happiest he's ever been. He succumbed to the heat, the sweat and the soft crooning from Jared's lips and fell headlong into a deep and peaceful sleep.

Jensen studied his pallet with only half of his attention on the paints. Jared was priming a canvas in the back of the studio, humming nervously to himself.

The gallery showing was timed so that the art reviews would be published in the in next issue of both **  
_I Am Every Man_** —Misha's magazine, and **  
**_The Art Aesthetic_ —Mark Pellegrino's. Both magazines were being delivered today via courier.

"Jared?" Jensen called across the room.

"Hmm? Yeah?" 

"Did you see Pellegrino at the exhibit? He didn't talk to me. Was he even there?" Jensen held out asking about Mark Pellegrino until now. It's was Jensen's form of mental fortitude. If he didn't care about the reviewer, he didn't care about the review.

The problem was, he always worried about how the public felt about his work. He knew he shouldn't, but old habits die hard. Anytime an artist puts themselves out there, pieces of their lives are on display to be hailed, ignored, dismissed, or panned. Jensen couldn't help it. It was human nature to prefer applause over boos.

Jared appeared in front of Jensen, smelling like hazelnut coffee and the oily primer he finished using. "I did meet Mark Pellegrino. He and I spoke for maybe five minutes. Mostly about what it was like being your apprentice. It was pleasant enough. He gave nothing away about what he thought of you or me, but Jensen?" Jared's lips touched behind Jensen's ear. "There's no question in my mind about what he'll say." Jared's tongue skimmed Jensen's jaw. "You are unique, irreplaceable and amazing." 

Jensen dipped his head, capturing Jared's lips in a soft kiss. "You're biased."

"Unabashedly, shamelessly, and proud of it." 

From the overhead intercom, Aldis's voice sang out, "They're heeeere."

"Okay," Jared said. "Which one do you want first? The hell you know or the hell you don't?"

"How about the hell I know. Read Misha's."

The three of them were sitting in the art gallery. Aldis had put the phones to voicemail and the Closed sign on the front door.

Jared cleared his throat and opened the latest edition of _I Am Every Man_.

"Sky High—New Works and Old Works by Jensen Ackles. 

Art Review by D.T. Collins  
+++++++++++++++++

My dear Art Lovers, 

Not only do we possess the great good fortune of having Jensen Ackles, Impressionist Artist Extraordinaire, in our world at all, but we have him here today, showering us with his colors yet again. 

Sit back and let Uncle Misha tell you about that rocking you just felt under your feet. That, darlings, was the art world, because Jensen Ackles has taken us out of the *now* and into the next dimension of art history.

The program to his new exhibition reads:

Sky High  
New Works and Old Works by Jensen Ackles  
And Introducing a New Artist, Jared T. Padalecki 

Sky High doesn't begin to describe the heights this artist takes his craft. Ackles's two most famous paintings _The Colors of My Life_ , and the mildly overhyped, _Primeval Prevailing_ , welcome the audience into the gallery, setting the stage for the next chapter in Abstract Impressionism.

Along the way we encounter _Smoke and Whispers_ , Ackles's wonderful work from right after the turn of the millennium and now, Jensen's donation to the [Wounded Warriors Project](http://www.woundedwarriorproject.org/). 

But the real stars of this show are _Saranyu_ and _Yarikh_.

In the hands of lesser artists, common subjects such as sunrises and sunsets are trite, overblown, melodramatic, and dead plain boring. Under the hands of this artist, Jensen Ackles creates a world of light, color, contrast and beauty, seamlessly blended, beautifully rendered, original in design, and in perfect harmony. In _The Dawn Bringer, Saranyu_ , the sun is rising. This painting bursts with life and promise, and with a hope so vivid, so alive, you can feel the vibrations of it deep within your bones. 

But it is _The Light Stealer, Yarikh_ that, without question, blows everything else in the contemporary art world out of the water. This work is breathtaking in its nuance and depth. The texture of design, along with the composition, and outright dissonance of color, creates a visceral reaction immediately upon viewing. It is a once in a lifetime experience. One can only stare in wonder, blinking back the tears as the world watches the sun, in its death throes, cast the last of its colors onto the Earth. 

Jensen Ackles's greatest and best known work is _The Colors of My Life_. This was a triumph of color and an example of unparalleled beauty. Until now.

Because now, I believe that _The Light Stealer, Yarikh_ is his finest work to date, and the finest example of contemporary art this century has seen.

Art World, we owe Jensen Ackles a great, big "Thank You."" 

++++++++++++++++

Jensen stared at nothing, unblinking, and speechless. Jared, on the other hand, took in a huge breath, jumped up and shouted, "Fuck, _yeah!_ " 

Jensen couldn't be sure, but Jared may have been pumping his fists into the air. " _You_ rock. You rock so fucking _hard_ , Jensen Ackles, Artist Extraordinaire!"

In contrast, Aldis wrapped his arm around Jensen's shoulders and said, softly and sincerely, "You done good, boss. You done real good. I'm so damn proud of you."

Jensen shook his head and wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Do you think…?" Jensen inhaled and chuckled wetly. 

"Do we think what?" Jared asked.

Jensen stared at the bouncing, blurry Jared in front of him. "Do you think that _Primeval Prevailing_ is overhyped?"

Jared's body quaked silently from head to foot until Jensen laughed out loud—wild and relieved.

"Not in a million to the millionth power years." Jared's laugh blasted out of him. 

Aldis slumped to the floor, chuckling with emotion. 

Jensen sighed and got serious. "There's still one more."

"No, let's stop here," Jared said, but he was already flipping through _**The Art Aesthetic.**_

"Jared's right. Let's stop here. At least for now," Aldis agreed. "Let's all bask in Uncle Misha's afterglow for a while."

"As disturbing as _that_ sounds I'd rather have Jared read Mark's review and get it over with. Rip the Band-Aid off in one pull." 

Jared folded back the page and began reading. 

" **Art Review—The Art Aesthetic with Mark Pellegrino**

It's almost beneath an artist of Jensen Ackles's caliber to draw sunrises and sunsets and have them as flagship pieces in his new exhibit, but there they were, front and center in Ackles Art Gallery's newest exhibition, _Sky High_.

It is true that Jensen Ackles can wield a paint brush better, with more style, panache, and flair than most other contemporary artists, but, after all these years, he's beginning to look like a one trick pony.

_The Colors of My Life_ is one of the most celebrated works of our time, and deservedly so.

However, while _The Dawn Bringer, Saranyu_ and _The Light Stealer, Yarikh,_ play well together, _Saranyu_ , the sunrise piece, is pretty but brings nothing new to the art world. Sunrises and sunsets are an overblown staple as far as subjects go, and while I understand that these are commissioned works, honestly, a talent of Jensen Ackles's stature should have been able to create images less pretentious, less redundant and far more original."

"Jensen," Jared's voice shook. "He's wrong. I'm not going to keep reading this trash."

Jensen gritted his teeth. "Finish it. Read the rest without stopping, and we'll dissect it at the end. Just," he swallowed, "read fast."

"Pellegrino's not…"

"Go on, do it." Jensen leaned back, staring at nothing.

He heard a great intake of air through Jared's nose. 

_"The Light Stealer, Yarikh,_ has all the promise of an outstanding work of creative genius and contemporary daring. However, it borders on cloying and manipulative, playing on the viewer's emotions in a calculated way. Keep in mind; we all know that these dying colors were rendered by a blind artist. 

Or were they?

There is an unsubstantiated rumor that I happen to believe (and if it's false, I'll trade in my pen for his brush), that Jensen Ackles's apprentice, Jared T. Padalecki painted portions of _The Light Stealer, Yarikh_. The talent attributed to Ackles might have to be shared, as this work may have been painted by two artists. 

While it was common practice for the Old Masters to have their apprentices create paintings directed by their master, going so far as signing their master's name at the bottom, this obviously is an archaic, misleading and possibly fraudulent practice nowadays. 

In other words: Having your apprentice paint for you is cheating.

This being said—Mr. Padalecki had three of his works presented in a well-deserved place of honor at the Ackles's gallery. They were an unexpected and pleasant surprise. 

Jared T. Padalecki's works are fresh and bold. His paintings have a force and timbre all their own, and, standing next to Jensen Ackles's new works, it's difficult to tell who had the greater showing at Ackles Exhibition: Jensen Ackles, resting squarely on his laurels of past glory, or Jared T. Padalecki, up and coming new Abstract Impressionist."

~~*~~*~~

~~*~~*~~

**FOUR**

~~~*~~*~~

Part Seven— _And should this sunlit world  
Grow dark one day,_  


~~*~~*~~

Jensen paced furiously from his bed to the window to the dresser. He looked at his fuzzy reflection in the mirror, took a deep, painful breath—why did he have a mirror anyway—and stalked back to the window.

 _"Who knew we both painted that sunset? Who knew?"_ Jensen asked himself. 

Jared knew, but it could not have been him. The idea that Jared leaked that information to Mark Pellegrino was unthinkable. Jared's loyalty, admiration and affection were real. Well, they felt real.

They were real. Jensen had to find another answer. 

Jared said that working for Jensen was a dream come true. He willingly signed his life over to Jensen and never complained, never objected and cheerfully fulfilled every one of Jensen's requests. 

Jensen shook his head. No, not Jared. Jared's laugh was too bright, his enthusiasm too infectious, and his colors were too brilliant not to be genuine.

_"Who else knew?"_

Jensen brushed his hair back with a shaking hand. Aldis was the only other person around, but Jensen never told him what he planned to do with Jared and _Yarikh_.

And he wasn't even there. Aldis came in long after they'd completed _Yarikh_ , almost catching them making out like teenagers.

_"Then whose fault is it?"_

Unless…

Had Jensen's fear of the never-ending darkness already blinded him to the world around him? Did he need Jared's help and approval so desperately that he imagined a patient, attentive, loving apprentice? Could he have misread Jared so completely? 

Pellegrino's words came back in haunting clarity: "Having your apprentice paint for you is cheating."

And he did that. Jensen did that. The truth came crashing into him, almost physically knocking him over. Jensen grabbed the bedpost to keep upright.

It was Jensen's fault.

He saw that not only had he allowed this to happen, he _made_ this happen. He placed the brushes into Jared's hand so Jared could paint with him—so Jared could paint _for_ him.

And not just any random work. 

He chose Jared to finish the most splendid piece of his entire career. Jensen handed _The Light Stealer_ over to Jared lock, stock and barrel, and _Yarikh_ , in all its glory, was too big a temptation for Jared to resist. Jensen sank to his knees on the floor by his bed as he realized that he, himself, was to blame.

He smacked his forehead, _"How could I have been so stupid?"_

The old adage was true. There are none so blind as those who will not see.

"You think I said something to Pellegrino? You think I told him that I "helped" you paint your masterpiece?" Jared was fuming. Anger rolled off of him in waves, emitting tension that shook the rafters. "Do you honestly think I would stoop so low as to claim credit for your work?"

Jensen didn't back down; he was sure of his conclusion. "How many people knew that you put your brush on my canvas? Two. You and me. And I'm sure that I didn't tell that to Mark Pellegrino. You said you had a nice chat with him about being my apprentice."

"You asshole. You fucking, stupid ass. You don't know who or how, but the first finger you point is at me, accusing me of what? Syphoning off your glory for my own moment of fame? You think I could do that?" 

Jensen was silent.

Jared turned away. "No, you think I _did_ that."

Jared may have been smoldering, but Jensen was ice. "Am I supposed to think that he came up with it on his own? I can't even dispute him because, technically, you did help me paint it. Three square inches were yours, your brush, your paint, and my name is on the bottom."

Jared shoved his art supplies to the side of his work station in the studio. "I'm not going to apologize for something I didn't do. Something I couldn't do." 

"What you didn't do?" Jensen took two steps toward Jared. "Are you telling me you didn't put paint on _Yarikh_? That you didn't talk to Pellegrino? Because I'm fairly sure you did both." 

"Fuck you, Jensen. Fuck you." 

"Yeah," Jensen said. "You did that, too."

Jared gasped. 

"I take some of the blame," Jensen said, tersely. "I let you get too close to me, and I let you get too close to my art. That was my fault."

Jensen couldn't see Jared's face, but when Jared spoke his voice was made of steel.

"I told you that working with you, with the artist who gave my life a path, was a dream come true. Now, I can't wait to get away from all this." Jared raised both arms high, indicating the studio where they now stood. "And you."

Jensen countered, "All my secrets, Jared, all my fears. My life, my soul, I bared them all to you. I thought we were creating something lasting together," Jensen lowered his voice. "This is my fault, because I trusted you. I couldn't see anything but you."

"Screw all that. You should have asked me if it was true." Jared opened his art box and threw in his paints, brushes and rags. "You were judge, jury and executioner without calling a single witness. I thought that even though you were blind, you could see life so genuinely, so purely." Jared swallowed. "I thought you could see _me_. So much for dashing my dreams, and smashing my heart right along with them, because I didn't fuck you, Jensen, I made love to you."

Jared stomped around, taking down canvas after canvas and stacking them in the corner. "Go ahead and sue me if you want. Keep my paychecks, I don't care. Find another…" Jared's voice caught, and Jensen heard him sob. "Find another apprentice to carry on your work. I'm done here. I'm done with you."

Jensen sat heavily on his paint stool. He wasn't wrong. He was sure nobody else knew that Jared helped fill in three fucking square inches of color. 

Jared packed up several bags of his painting equipment and supplies. Jensen heard sniffs and coughs that sounded so much like deep sorrow. With bags draped over his shoulders and a duffle in each hand Jared said, "I'll send someone to get the rest of my things. I'll make sure they don't disturb you."

Jensen's eyes glossed over. His heavy, aching heart didn't want to believe that his apprentice betrayed him, but the proof was in black and white. 

Jared opened the studio door. At the last moment he turned in a slow distinctive circle so that Jensen could see.

"I didn't do it. For the record, and if you had thought to ask, I did not betray your trust. I never would and I never will. Not in a million to the millionth power years."

Jared walked away.

"That's a hell of a lot of years," Jensen whispered before burying his head in his hands.

It was past midnight. The lights were out in the studio, office and gallery. Jensen had sent Aldis home with instructions not to come back to work until Jensen called him.

That was a week and a day ago. 

Jensen prowled the dark art gallery, tapping his cane against the familiar curves of the walls and dips in the floors. The business office and the gallery were closed to guests and customers. The only place that had any life was Jensen's studio, and even that looked bare. Jared had sent a friend to gather the rest of his gear and left without saying a word.

Jensen took no appointments and unplugged his phone after the reviews came out, not wanting to deal with the public just yet. He would have to soon, but now, he wanted nothing but dark silence.

He missed his life with Jared. In his mind's fuzzy eye, he saw Jared wearing red, bouncing through the studio, waving at him in big, grand movements from across the room, and loving him deep into the night.

Jensen wondered why Jared had done it. 

He wondered how his poor broken heart continued to beat. 

There was soft knocking and then the opening of the gallery door.

"Who is it?" Jensen called out.

"Jense? It's me." Aldis's voice echoed in the dark.

"Go home, Aldis, go home." 

"No, man. You closed the office, and you don't answer your phone, but I know you. I knew you'd be up wandering the hallways. I have to talk to you."

"Please, not now." Jensen dry washed his face and found that his cheeks were wet. "In the morning. We'll open tomorrow morning."

"Boss," Aldis touched Jensen's arm. "I gotta do this now."

"It's late, Al. It's too late."

"It is late," Aldis agreed. "But it's not too late." 

Aldis gently steered Jensen to the leather love seat and sat them both down "This is my doing, Jensen, and I'm sorry."

Jensen was confused. "No, it's not. _I'm_ the coward who closed the place down." He sighed deep and heavy. "I didn't want to deal with any of it. The reviews, the public, Jar-Jared." He paused to wipe his face again. "I still don't, but it's time to move forward, you and I. We'll start in the morning. Come in at the usual time, I'll need your help putting together a press release."

It was black as pitch in the gallery. Aldis's voice whispered in the dark. "I want you to listen to me, boss. Can you listen to me?"

"I don't know." Jensen shuddered. "I can barely breathe, so I don't know how well I can listen."

Aldis spoke softly but surely. "I saw you and Jared in the studio that day, working on _Yarikh_. For all those weeks before, I listened to you teach him your methods and watched you show him your techniques. You told him all your secrets." 

Aldis took a deep breath and when he spoke again, he didn't sound as strong. "But when you shared your brushes and gave him your _colors_ , I had to do something."

Jensen's fingers twitched. "What did you do?"

Aldis's soft voice quivered. " _You_ are the only one allowed to do what you do. You're the one who's supposed to mix the paints, hold the brushes, place the colors, and create your art. Only you. Good God, Jense, you've paid for your art with your eyesight."

A lead weight formed in Jensen's gut as Aldis's words sank in.

"What exactly are you saying?"

"I know you wanted someone to carry on your work when your eyesight fails, but your sight might last as long as you do. It's not a done deal that will happen. But if your other eye does go dark, maybe your work should end when you can't paint anymore."

Jensen couldn't believe he heard correctly. "What?"

"Your talent is God blessed genius. Nobody can learn that. You didn't learn it, you were born with it. You can't give your talent to Jared or anyone else because it's just not possible."

"Who are you to decide?" Jensen stammered, helplessly.

Aldis continued as though Jensen hadn't spoken. "I only wanted Jared to go away; you didn't need him or anybody else painting for you." Aldis sighed. "In this fantasy I created, if nature did take its course, and you went full blind, you would retire your brushes and live high on the hog. I'd continue to run your business, hang and rehang the paintings, make the coffee and keep the place going."

The pieces clicked together. "You talked to Mark Pellegrino?"

"Yes, but Jensen," Aldis's voice faltered. "This wasn't supposed to come back and bite _you_. That's not what was supposed to happen. All I wanted was for Jared to leave after getting slapped on the wrist as a young artist upstart trying to take over your spotlight. That's all. Please believe me." 

Jensen swallowed dryly, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. "Jared said it wasn't him. That he would never do such a thing. I told him I didn't believe him. Jesus Christ, Aldis, I told him I didn't believe him. How can I make up for that?" 

"I'll fix it in any way I can," Aldis said, sincerely. "I never meant for it to go down like this. I was angry because you shut me out. All I wanted was to be a small part of the history you were making, and I screwed it up. I'm sorry, man, I'm so sorry." 

"I thought you were my friend," Jensen said. "I thought you had my back."

"I am your friend." Aldis laid his hand on Jensen's shoulder. "I want to make it right."

Jensen pushed Aldis's arm away. "You need to leave." A tear dripped down Jensen's cheek; he brushed it away with the back of his hand. 

"I'll fix it, Jense. Believe me, I'll do whatever it takes," Aldis begged. "Tell me what to do."

"Tomorrow, I want you to pack up your things, leave the keys, and go. I can't stand for you to be here anymore."

"Jensen, _please_."

"How could you do this?"

"If I could take it all back, I would. I'll talk to Jared, tell him the truth."

"It's too late for that." Jensen drew a deep, trembling breath. "Clear your office, be gone by noon."

The silence in the gallery was absolute. Aldis's voice was so soft it could have been the wind. "This is the worst mistake of my life. Until the day I die, I'll be sorry for what I have done." Aldis gently closed the door behind him.

"For what you have done," Jensen said to the closed door, "and for what I have done."

Jensen stormed out of the gallery and marched into his darkened studio. His grief turned to anger as he slammed the walls with an open palm and bashed half painted canvases with his cane. Finally grasping the cane in a double fisted grip, he beat it on the concrete floor until it was a bent and broken mass of red and white. He threw the stump of the cane at the window and stumbled around the darkened studio overturning paint stools, swiping paint pallets onto the floor and flinging jars of soaking paint brushes. Jensen lashed out at the easels, kicking at them until they collapsed in a heap.

Jensen cursed, and shouted at the ceiling until he pathetically sank to the floor, wiping snot and spit on his shirt sleeve. 

Finally, making a decision, Jensen pulled out his cell phone and scrolled to Jared's color. But what would he say? 'Sorry I didn't believe you?' 'Sorry I didn't listen to you?' 'I'm sorry it never occurred to me that I was wrong and you were innocent?'

How do you start a conversation with someone you have wronged so badly? Jared shouldn't want to hear from him ever again. 

Except maybe for an apology?

Jensen rubbed his sore hands together and breathed in. He would call Jared tomorrow. He would take the rest of the night and however much of the next day to compose a message and hope that Jared's cell went directly to voice mail. He would tell him he was sorry and that he was wrong. He would say that he understood if Jared never wanted to see him again, but would he please listen to him just one more time? 

Jensen had never been happier than he had these past months with Jared. Painting next to Jared. Jared laughing and trying so hard to please. Jensen, finding that he wanted to please Jared in return. Sharing his studio, sharing his gallery, sharing his spotlight, and sharing his bed. It had all felt so good. Life with Jared was all his colors, all his light, wrapped in one, big, talented, funny, loving man.

Now, Jared was gone and Jensen was to blame. The pain was bone deep. 

Jensen clung to the wall, climbing up to a standing position. He was tired, he was angry, but more than that, he was sad. He wanted Jared to forgive him. Jared probably wouldn't feel the same about him, but maybe Jensen could convince Jared to come back and study with him, be his apprentice again. 

But even as he thought this, he knew…he _knew_ Jared would be moving on.

He didn't deserve Jared back. Jensen always felt that he didn't truly earn the fame he received, and he sure as hell didn't deserve to have his work live on after him. Maybe Aldis was right about that.

Jensen rubbed his eyes, carefully stepping through the mess on the studio floor, slowly making his way to the back stairs leading up to his bedroom. 

"I might not convince him to come back, but I can tell him I'm sorry," he whispered into the night. 

He traced the walls with his fingers and kicked away the debris underfoot. Finally reaching the stairs, Jensen sighed in relief when he grasped the handrail. 

"I hope I can get him to listen to me." His heart pumped slow and sad.

Jensen trudged wearily up to the fifth step, but on the sixth, he stepped down on something. 'A pencil?' Jensen's mind asked. 'No, a paint brush.' 

Jensen's tired hand was already light on the rail and when his left foot rolled out from under him, the railing flew out of his grasp. Jensen's arms pinwheeled, frantically searching for a hand hold. It was too late; his hands clutched at the air as he fell backwards, hurtling down six steps, landing head-first on the textured concrete floor below.

"What could you possibly be calling about, Jensen? It's two in the morning. Go drunk dial someone else."

"Please, I need you."

"I'm hanging up now."

"I fell and hit my head. I think I'm bleeding…feels like I'm bleeding."

"You fell?"

"It's dark, but I don't think I can see, Jared. I don't think I can see."

Jared hesitated one, maybe two seconds. "I'm coming. Don't move."

Jared held onto the phone while throwing on a pair of jeans, gathering his keys—one of them Jensen's master key—and his wallet. "Where are you? Tell me."

"In a truck. In a ditch."

"No, you're not. Jensen, talk to me. Where are you?"

Jared heard Jensen take in a long stuttering breath. "I fell down the stairs. I'm on the floor in the studio."

"Listen, listen, stay still, and don't move your head or anything. I'll be right there. Can you stay on the line?"

"I think so." Jensen sounded confused.

"I'm calling 911 from the land line, right now. Keep talking, okay?" Jared punched the three numbers and blurted information to the operator. 

"You coming here? Coming now?" Jensen's voice shook. "Jared? Jared?"

"Yes, I'm coming now. Right now. What happened?" Jared ran down the sidewalk to his car.

"Aldis told me it was him. He said he talked to Mark. Oh, God, Jared, it wasn't you, and it wasn't me, it was Al. I'm sorry, I didn't think. I'm sorry."

"Calm down, it'll be okay." Jared jumped into his car, started it up and tore out of his parking space.

Jared heard deep gulps of breath from his phone's speaker. "You were good, so good to me, and I got too close. Deep down, I think I was afraid you'd leave, but look how I forced you away." Jensen wasn't making much sense and his voice was growing softer and softer. 

"Jensen be easy, we'll figure all this out."

"If I never see you again, if I never see anything again, I'll remember how hurt you were. The angry moves you made, the sorrow in your steps. I want to see you again," Jensen whimpered. "Help me?"

"Of course I'll help. Hang on, you hear me?" Jared put his phone on speaker so both hands were on the wheel. "I wasn't sure you'd want me around if you thought I'd let you down. Are you lying still?"

"I'm on the floor in the dark, Jared. It's cold down here."

The night was warm and Jensen's words were slurring together.

"I'm only five minutes away." Jared broke the speed limit several times over. "Jen, keep imagining the lights on the paintings, shining down on _Saranyu_ , sparkling on your _Colors_. Please Jensen, stay awake, 911 is on the way. If they get there to take you to the hospital before I do, don't be scared."

"No," Jensen breathed. "Only want you to drive."

"They're good drivers, I promise."

"I'm sorry, Jay. Forgive me? Try? I don't want the last sight of you to be walking out with your bags dragging on the floor, and your voice so sad an' angry."

"It won't be. We'll have a long talk and figure things out together, okay Jen? _Jensen_."

"Here. I'm here."

"I'm almost there. Do you hear sirens, yet?"

"No. Hurry, Jared. It's dark and I'm lost. Please, please come find me."

After so many minutes of silence, there were loud, fast footsteps.

"Jensen? Where are you?"

"Here. Over here." Jensen strained to call out, but his voice was weak and breathy.

"Oh, god, Jen." Warm hands, strong arms, soft words, hot breath. 

"Jay?" Jensen moaned

"Shh, yes, I'm here. Right here."

"I can't see you. I can't see anything."

"The ambulance is on the way." Jared lifted Jensen against him. "You banged your head up pretty good." Jared held something against his head, and brushed his hands across Jensen's face. "Looks like a tornado hit the studio."

"I made that mess." Jensen's head throbbed and he felt disoriented. 

"Does anything else hurt?" Jared held him to his chest. "Stay awake, okay. You gotta stay awake."

"I doubted you. I accused you. _I_ betrayed _you_. I can't even start to 'pologize."

"There'll be plenty of time for that." Jared's arms had been tight around Jensen, keeping his head from moving, but then, Jared loosened one arm to wipe Jensen's face and neck with a cloth. "I shouldn't have left like that. We should have talked it out. I've missed you, Jensen. I should have stayed and not moved an inch until I convinced you that I could never hurt you like that." 

Jared's arms encircled Jensen's body again, hugging him to Jared's chest. Jensen had his eyes closed so he could pretend he could see if he opened them. He held on to Jared as tightly as he could.

"But I hurt you." Jensen couldn't tell if the wetness was tears or blood dripping off his chin. "I'll be able to accept the darkness if you forgive me. You don't have to stay, you don't have to mean it, but please say you f'give me."

"Shh, be quiet," Jared whispered. "But stay awake."

A siren sounded close outside.

"They're here, Jensen. Help is on the way. The doctors can easily fix a detached retina. You'll be seeing me again soon." 

"Head hurts." It was hard to stay awake.

"I know," Jared said. "Hang in there, okay?"

"It's dark in the middle of the night, Jay."

"You're not lost, I've got you."

"I don't…" Jensen took in a breath and dropped his arms. He needed to rest. Just for a minute. 

"In here!" Jared shouted. "We're in here! Jensen, stay awake. _Jensen_."

Jensen's grasp on Jared's arm briefly tightened. "Jared, there are no colors here."

"Step back, please, sir." A female EMT's voice instructed.

Jared's palm patted Jensen's chest and then moved away. 

"Jay?" Jensen reached blindly into the air. 

"It's okay, Jensen. I'm at five o'clock." 

"It looks like you had bad fall, Mr. Ackles. We're going to put you in a collar and strap you to a backboard to stabilize your head and spine, but it's just a precaution."

Jensen felt his neck being fitted with the cervical collar and a mask pulled down over his nose and mouth. After they finished wrapping something around his head, Jared's big paw captured Jensen's left hand and held on tight. They were doing something to his right arm, now.

"He's blind. His retina's torn. You have to fix it." Jared was intense.

"We don't know that, sir, please let us take care of him. Mr. Ackles? Can you still hear me?"

"Yes, I hear you, but I can't see you." They rolled him gently to the side, lay him back on something hard and began strapping him in. "Jay?"

"Right here, Jen, right here."

"Try and stay calm, Mr. Ackles. You're in good hands," a jovial male voice replied. "We're radioing it in to the hospital. They'll have specialists standing by."

"You'll call my eye doctor? Jared?" Jensen's other arm flailed into the darkness, but someone caught it and held it still.

"I will." Fingers that must have belonged to Jared stroked Jensen's cheek. "I've got your doctor's information." 

"Don't worry, we'll get you covered. Okay, Mr. Ackles, we're going to lift you on three." 

After Jensen was secured on the stretcher, he began rolling.

"Jared's still here, right?" Jensen didn't care if he sounded scared. He needed Jared as a lifeline in the dark. 

"Here, Jen, I'm coming with you." Jared grasped Jensen's hand and squeezed.

"Sir, uh, Jared, let us get him situated, and then you can get in."

"I'm with you, Jen and I'm not letting go," Jared called as they lifted him into the ambulance.

Jensen sighed loud and deep. "He's with me. I need him." Jensen was losing steam. "He's with me."

"Okay, let's go. ER's waiting."

Jared was holding Jensen's hand, and even in the dark among the medical smells, the collar around his neck and the scream of the ambulance's siren, the warmth of Jared's hand let Jensen breathe easier than he had in a week. 

He wasn't lost, Jared found him.

"Moshi Moshi."

"Mister Collins? Misha? This is Jared Padalecki."

"Jared, hey, what up?" Misha's words were friendly but his tone was not.

"Jensen fell and hit his head. He had surgery on his right eye to repair a detached retina."

Jared heard a deep intake of air through the phone. "Oh, God. Jesus, Jared, will he be okay? I mean, will he be able to see again?"

"They think he will. They hope he will."

"My God." Misha lost all pretenses, and what was left was the distraught voice of Jensen's old friend. "What happened?" 

"It was an accident. He fell down a half flight of stairs. The fall detached the retina and came close to cracking his skull. He's concussed, and along with the eye surgery, they're keeping a close watch on him for a few days."

"Jesus," Misha whispered.

"The doctors," Jared paused to steady himself. "They're optimistic."

"Good, that's good."

There was a tense silence on the line. After a minute, Jared said. "Jensen would want you to know, but that's not the only reason I called."

"Thanks for telling me." Misha got his breathing under control. "What's the other reason?"

"I need you to clear up an ugly rumor. I want to make a statement. On the record."

"Are you sure you want to go on the record with this? Maybe we ought to chat first."

"I'm sure."

"Okay, hold on." A click and soft buzz came over the phone line. "I'm recording you now, Jared. Go ahead."

"I want Mark Pellegrino's head on a platter. Barring that, he offered to hang up his pen if the rumor that Jensen Ackles's apprentice helped paint _The Light Stealer, Yarikh_ didn't pan out. Well, it doesn't."

"I'm cutting off the recorder," Misha said. "Listen Jared, Mark got into some hot water with his "unsubstantiated rumor" accusation, but we got wind that it came from Aldis Hodge, Jensen's personal assistant. According to Mark, Aldis came to him and stated, also on the record, that he saw you painting on Jensen's canvas with Jensen directing you. Hodge hasn't retracted his statement. Don't you think Aldis would have raised holy hell when Pellegrino came out kicking ass and taking names?"

"I don't know what Aldis saw, but if he saw me putting my brush on Jensen's painting it was to match the brush strokes of six square inches, actually three square inches, of painting on the lower left hand corner. In order to learn his technique, he wanted me to match his, in a real way."

"But you helped him paint it."

"No, he helped me by letting me copy his style. I was no help whatsoever."

"Still." 

"Good God, Collins, you _know_ that only Jensen Ackles could have painted that work of art. Do you think that someone like me, a math major with a love of numbers and famous mathematicians, could render something as brilliant as _Yarikh_?"

"Don't sell yourself short. You’re a hugely talented artist."

Jared clenched his teeth. "Do you think anyone other than Jensen Ackles could have painted an abstract sunset that had the whole gallery in tears?"

The phone was silent. One minute turned into two. "No." 

Jared let out a breath. "Help me fix this. Talk to Aldis Hodge. He came clean to Jensen about everything and I suspect that he'll come clean to you, too. Ask him. He knows the truth."

"All right, I will, but I'm not going to clear anything with you first. Are you sure you're ready for what might come out?"

"I know what we did, and Jensen knows the truth. Aldis may not know it all, but he knows I didn't paint Jensen Ackles's greatest masterpiece and I can't believe he wants me getting any credit for it."

"All right, I'm on it. Watch for the fallout, wherever it lands. Give Jensen a big, sloppy kiss on the lips for me. Tell him," Misha paused, "tell him he'll be seeing me soon."

"I will. Find out the real story. Get to the truth, and good things will follow. I know it."

Part Eight— _The Colors of My Life,_  


~~*~~*~~

Jensen lay perfectly still, flat on his stomach, face down. His head and both eyes were wrapped in gauze, even though that was obviously overkill. Though he sensed that his head hung off the edge of the bed, it was comfortably cradled by what felt like a padded headrest a masseuse would use.

Jensen hummed appreciatively. He liked massages. Warm, oiled thumbs pressing hard into the knots and spasms in his neck, breaking up the tension there. Long, soothing fingers, trailing up and down his back, Jared's fingertips teasing the bones in his spine one at a time—one at a time.

"Umm Hmmm," he sighed. "Yeah, like that."

His forehead itched and he raised a hand to scratch it. Out of nowhere, two big hands intercepted his wrist and gently tucked his arm down beside him.

"C'mon, keep still now," a voice whispered. 

"'K," Jensen sighed happily. 

He knew that some people didn't like the effects of sedatives with pain meds cocktails, but right now, Jensen felt spec-tac-u-lack-ular.

He may have giggled when a large palm rubbed his back.

"'At you, Jay?"

"'At's me, Jen," Jared's smiling voice replied. "Leave the stitches alone."

"Bossy, bossy apprentice." Jensen sighed again. "What stitches?" 

"They had to sew ten little stitches at your hairline over your left eye to close the gash you got when you fell down the stairs. There's a good-sized knot on the back of your head, too. Do you remember?"

"Yeah, the stairs. Stepped onna brush." 

"Don't move your head too much. You had surgery to repair your retina and you have to stay like that for a while."

"Upside down?" Jensen really wanted to scratch the burning patch on his forehead.

"No, _face_ down."

He shifted in the bed. "Ouch. Did I break my knees, too?"

A low chuckle came from his left. "No, they're banged up but not broken."

If Jensen didn't know better he would have thought Jared was laughing at him.

He flexed his fingers. "My hands? Oh _God_. Jay, Jay my hands get busted?"

"Nope, they're just a little raw. Nothing else is broken." Jared took Jensen's hand and held it in both of his. "Not your knees, not your hands, only your head."

"And my eyes," Jensen said, sadly.

"Not both of them," Jared's voice caught for a quick moment. "They fixed your right one. That's what they told me."

Jensen nodded down toward the floor. "You b'lieve 'em?"

"Yes. I believe them."

"Okay," Jensen yawned. "If you believe 'em, guess I'll see you later, huh?" 

"I guess you will."

Jensen wasn't sure, but that might have been Jared's lips kissing his hair. Jared released his hand and drew back.

"Jared?" Jensen yawned. "Jay, you still here?"

Jared must have sat down on the floor because a warm hand materialized on his cheek, thumb brushing his lips and chin. 

"Still here." 

"Still my apprentice? Still my…mine?" Jensen had trouble managing his saliva, but he hoped what he said came out intelligibly. "Please?"

"Still yours, Jensen. Go to sleep, I'll be here when you wake up."

"Um, why am I upside down again?"

"Face down, and you're going to have to get used to it for a couple of weeks."

Jensen faked a super-secrit whisper, "You're being awfully cryptic." At least that's what he intended to say. It may have come out sounding, "Yerbin affry kripik."

"I'm not being cryptic," Jared laughed. "I'm just not sure how much information to give you, 'cause I don't know how much you'll remember when everything wears off."

"Fair 'nuff. Just give me the face down part then."

"Okay." Jared's hand moved along his chin and cheek. "After they reattached your retina, they inserted a gas bubble into your eyeball so everything would heal properly. You'll have to stay face down for about two weeks, forty-five minutes out of every hour."

"You're right. I already forgot the first part of what you said." Jensen yawned and reached for his forehead. "Try me again tomorrow."

Jensen's hand was magically diverted away from its goal and tucked back under the covers.

"You'll be here when I wake up?

"Right here—well maybe not on the floor."

"Will you stay with me forever if I promise to be good?"

"It's interesting how general anesthesia and strong narcotics cause even great artists to revert back to their four year-old selves."

"So that means I get ice cream, too?" Jensen asked. 

"If you're good." Jared's fingertips gently scratched Jensen's shoulder blades and touched each bone in his spine one by one.

Jensen took in a deep, happy breath. "I think I love you, Jay." 

"Mighty sure I love you, too."

"Then I'm pretty much guaranteed ice cream." Jensen ended the sentence with a snore.

**"The Art Aesthetic with Mark Pellegrino.**

Jealousy is an angry thing. Envy, jealousy's first cousin, is a wrathful bitch. Stir them together, add suspicion, greed, and resentment and you have given birth to evil. 

Have you ever read a novel so moving, so powerful that you said to yourself, "I wish I had written that."? As a writer of non-fiction, original fiction, and as someone who makes a living writing critiques of the art world, I haven't given up on my desire to someday write my very own Great American Novel.

I love to write.

Wuthering Heights? I wish I'd written that.

To Kill a Mockingbird? God, how I wish I'd written that.

An unknown, or at least little known factoid about me is that, not only do I yearn to write the greatest novel of all times (Moby Dick? The Old Man and the Sea? I wish _they_ were mine), but I also paint.

When I'm not writing, I have a brush in hand. In my dreams I create art that rivals Picasso's _Guernica_ for expression, passion, and as a conduit for social consciousness. I would have sold my soul to the devil to have painted that.

I love to paint.

I live and breathe, therefore I write and paint.

But my writing talent is, alas, limited to art magazines and my artistic muse has led me to fill a basement full of terrible self-made impressionist art, and if I can't do it, I sometimes try to crush those who can.

In other words: If you can't join 'em, beat 'em.

Twenty years ago, I viewed, with tears in my eyes, a tour de force of color, imagination and emotion titled _The Colors of My Life_. It was created by a young artist named Jensen Ackles, whom I later learned, was, by all legal and functional definitions, blind.

My mantra of "I wish I'd painted that," turned into—"I have eyes that actually see, so I _should have been able_ to paint that."

So began my love/hate affair with Jensen Ackles—and the ingredients for evil were born. 

I viewed _Smoke and Whispers_ with skepticism and wrote a half-hearted endorsement of this work for the rag I worked for at the time. After all, the poor young man was blind, let's give him a break.

Underneath this condescension was, "He's brilliant. I wish I'd painted that." Jealousy.

When Ackles's amazing _Primeval Prevailing_ made the cover of _Time Magazine_ , I deflected the glory of that work and blamed the rave review on the inexperience of _Time_ 's Art critic _du jour_. I wrote that I couldn't be sure if _Primeval Prevailing_ was, in fact, pure genius, or only appeared so because of the artist's reputation, but silently allowed that this may, in fact, be a notch in the world's art history. Envy.

Time and again, I went back and forth, writing lukewarm commendations of Ackles's work, all the while ignoring the overwhelming voice in my heart.

"Why can he paint like that?" Suspicion.

"What I would have given to have created this." Greed.

"I wish I had half the talent Jensen Ackles has in his little finger." Back to Envy.

Twenty years later, this blind boy, now a man, rewards an undeserving world with _The Light Stealer, Yarikh._

For the first time in over twenty years my heart didn't burst with the words, "I wish I'd painted that." Because I knew that I could never, ever have painted that.

What's more, when I found out—or thought I'd found out—that someone else had helped Ackles paint _The Light Stealer_ , I was more than disappointed. I was livid.

If Ackles didn't paint it, it _could_ have been me. 

Resentment. 

I showed no mercy to this talented man or to the apprentice whose only crime was helping the artist perpetuate his gift for when his blindness, inevitably, becomes complete. 

Because when that final curtain is drawn, and Jensen Ackles's world goes dark, so will ours.

Oh, what the hell, let me go ahead and say it: With all my heart, I wish I had helped Jensen Ackles paint _The Light Stealer, Yarikh._ I wish I had been one small part of creating a work of art that will continue to move audiences to tears long after I am buried and forgotten.

But, back to the point: If I can't be a part of history, then I will help mar it just as the grapes were probably sour anyway. Evil.

Evil.

The apprentice never painted for the master. It was obvious to anyone who saw. The apprentice has his own story to tell. I knew it the moment I viewed his paintings under the same roof. The apprentice, Jared T. Padalecki, painted his own and Jensen Ackles painted his. 

I was enraged, I was bitter, I was wrong and I am sorry.

At this writing, Mr. Ackles is recovering from surgery to reattach a splintered retina in the only working eye he has left. I pray that Jensen Ackles regains his partial sight, because a world without his colors is lifeless indeed.

This will be my last art review. Besmirching a great master's work and publicly perpetrating a lie, only to admit, retract, and confess, is a humiliating and altogether fitting way to exit the stage. 

In case I was vague, let me state, for the entire world to see:

Jensen Ackles is the master artist and creator of _The Light Stealer, Yarikh._

Jensen Ackles is the sole artist, and the only thing he is guilty of is attempting to leave his knowledge to his apprentice, Jared T. Padalecki.

I retract my statements declaring otherwise, and publicly apologize to both Jensen Ackles and Jared T. Padalecki.

I hope someday they can forgive me. 

I hope someday I can forgive myself."

Jared's voice shook as he finished the last sentence.

"You did it, Jay. You fixed it." Jensen tried not to let the utter relief he felt sound in his voice. For weeks now, he'd been pretending to slough it off, claiming that he wasn't letting the accusations worry him. 

"It wasn't me, it was Misha. He got on Pellegrino by calling him out on the "unsubstantiated, but I believe it" rumor. Mark had no choice but to get with Aldis and publicly confirm or deny the facts."

"It worked," Jensen pointed to the publication in Jared's hands.

"Did it? Does the 'Art World' Jared made big, exaggerated quotey fingers, "know that we are both innocent of any deception?"

Jensen's medically imposed restrictions against sitting up were over, and the sight he had was as sharp as ever. Which was to say, blissfully blurry.

"I don't care, I just want to paint. Do you care?"

"Yes, I care. I don't want anyone thinking that your genius can be parceled out on a whim. Your talent belongs only to you."

Jensen stood from the loveseat in his gallery. "Do you think that?"

"Do I think you are all kinds of awesome?" Jared asked.

Jensen nodded.

"Yes. Yes I do"

"Then what's the problem? You're here, you think I'm awesome, my colors are back so it's all good." Jensen tapped his cane impatiently. "Come on. Let's paint." 

"You can't fool me, you know." Jared stood and snaked his arms around Jensen's waist. "This has been a living hell for you."

Jensen sighed and Jared held him tight. "You're right," he spoke into the shoulder of Jared's purple tee shirt. Apparently on his chest there was a picture of cartoon puppies crying and a caption that read: _I sleep like a baby—meaning I cry all night_.

"You'll help me interview for a new office manager?" Jensen's voice was muffled by Jared's neck.

"Yes _and_ a new personal assistant."

"I thought Aldis was my friend," Jensen said, sadly. "I was his."

"Aldis admired you and wanted to be a part of your life but he messed up." Jared planted soft kisses to the light pink scar at his hairline. "Despite what he did, he was your friend and cared about you."

"He was my friend, but he stabbed you in the back, Jared. I don't know how I feel about him."

"You loved him like a brother, and you miss him. You can't forgive him, but you wish him well. How does that sound?"

Jensen took a deep breath. "I almost lost you because I believed him, Jay." He looked up at Jared. "I believed him over you."

"I know." Jared stilled in Jensen's arms. "And that…that still hurts."

"When I was on the floor and I couldn't see, I remember asking you to forgive me."

"You did," Jared agreed.

"I'm asking you again. Please, can you forgive me?"

Jensen stood back and took in Jared's stooped shoulders and the way his head turned away. 

"Jared?"

"I love you, Jensen, I do, but there's no easy fix for this."

"I am so sorry."

"I know you're sorry, Jen. I believe that you are—I'm just not all the way there yet."

"I thought you would have left after what I did, but you're still here, and that's more than I deserve. Try and believe me when I say, I'll do anything to earn back your trust."

"I want to." Jared took Jensen's wrist. "Do you remember what else I said? 

Jensen shook his head, sadly.

"I said I'd be with you and that we would work it out." He kissed Jensen's fingertips and whispered, "It might take some time, but we will."

Jensen squeezed Jared's hand. "As long as you're here, painting with me, teaching me and letting me teach you, take all the time you need. I love you, and I'll do my best to prove it to you every day. I promise that someday you will have faith in me again. Even if it takes a million to the millionth power years."

Jared opened Jensen's hand and placed Jensen's fingers so they touched his lips and cheek. Jared smiled deep and wide into Jensen's hand and said, "It won't."

Epilogue— __  
Will leave a shining light  
To show the way.  


~~*~~*~~

"…in fact, my parents had no idea how poor my eyesight was, because, as a child, I colored voraciously with crayons, markers, chalk, and brushed water paints on every available surface. I felt worse for them than for me because I adapted to the haziness early on, picking out the colors and shadows without a second thought. To my mom and dad, it looked as though the doctors were wrong and that I could see far better than I could."

Jensen turned to Jared. "Another question?"

Jared pointed straight ahead and up to the top tier of the lecture hall and said, "Twelve o'clock high."

Jensen smirked. "Tell me how long you've been waiting to say that."

"You're right," he laughed. "I was heavily influenced by a 1960's black and white TV series about World War Two." 

The students and invited guests laughed happily.

Jared pushed up beside Jensen, blocked his mike and whispered, "And, fighter pilots are hot."

"Some night you'll have to find a smooth, black leather bomber jacket and prove it," Jensen whispered back. He glanced again at Jared, and Jared stepped away. 

Jensen looked ahead and up. "Yes? You have a question for me?" 

"Yes, sir," a young male voice answered. "Mr. Ackles, I read that you had surgery to fix the eyesight in your right eye. How successful was that?"

"Very successful. Thank you for asking so directly. I have the same vision after the surgery as before. The doctors performed what's called a scleral buckling surgery on my right eye to reattach the retina and anchor it properly. As part of the repair, an air bubble was placed inside my eye to keep the retina in place while it healed as part of another procedure called a vitrectomy. I won't go into the gory details, but I have to say that I'm lucky that the surgeries were performed in a timely manner."

"What you may not have read was, when it happened, I called Jared." He turned to Jared and said, meaningfully, "And, thankfully, he answered the phone."

Jared made an embarrassed 'pffft' sound loud enough to be heard in the back row of the lecture hall.

Jensen continued addressing the multi-colored smears high in the back row, "He found me on the floor after my fall and immediately called the paramedics. Every day, I thank Jared for saving my colors." He turned to Jared and smiled warmly. "God, I'm so _lucky_."

"Actually, I called the EMTs _before_ I found you at the bottom of the stairs." Jared stroked Jensen's arm as he spoke. "You said it was going to be a bumpy ride, but to stick with you because it would be worth it."

"I also said that love conquers all." Jensen stepped in close to Jared. "Good thing I'm not a writer."

The audience's laughter startled them out of their private-public conversation.

They stood apart, and with the sound of Jared's chuckling behind him, Jensen, once again, took center stage. 

Jensen paused, and then tipped his head up to the crowd. 

"My father loves roses. He plants rosebushes anywhere in the yard that gets enough sun. Luckily, for much of the year, the front yard is sunny all day long, so our front walkway is always blooming. 

"Over the years, dad figured out which colors were the most vibrant, which strains of roses were hardiest for the climate, and which ones had the best fragrance."

Jensen paced in front of the podium, keeping Jared within his range of sight on the right.

"My dad loves everything about the process of growing roses. From cultivating the manure-rich soil, to the careful pruning of the stems, he loves growing roses and creating beautiful multi-colored bouquets for mom's dining room table. And he likes that I can see them. Dad loves his rose gardens. 

"Happily, there was an unexpected fringe benefit to my father's green thumb. The neighborhood newsletter took pictures of dad's roses and interviewed my parents. The local newspaper got in on the action and gave the roses, my folks and the neighborhood some great ink. Six years ago, _Better Homes and Gardens Magazine_ did a small spread on regular people whose gardens brightened their communities. Dad got a mention in a paragraph on the second page of that article. He had it framed and it's hanging in their living room."

The lecture hall had quieted. Jensen's heels clicked and his cane tip glided easily along the floor as he sauntered back and forth.

"I asked my dad how he felt about that. I said he must be proud of the fame he got for all his hard work. He shrugged big enough for me to see, and said, "I love my roses. That my neighbors enjoy them is icing on the cake.""

Jensen stared out into the roiling, blurry, silent mass.

"Love what you do. Paint what you love, write what you love, sing what you love, dance what you love. Do what you love. Do it and forget about what others think. To quote Max Ehrmann's _Desiderata_ :

_If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter;  
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself._

"Not long ago, Jared and I were victims of that kind of bitterness. It could have ruined both our careers, but if it had, I would still have to paint. Jared would still have to paint. It's what we love, and fuck them all if they don't get it.

"I was lucky. My work was discovered and every day I realize how fortunate I am being able to make a living with my brushes and paint. But guess what? As popular as my paintings are, not everyone likes them. 

"Never is _everyone_ going to like what you do.

"So what I'm saying is, go where your muse leads you. Write that screenplay, compose that symphony, dance to Swan Lake, sing that opera. Don't ignore your muse, but instead, thank God for every moment your muse speaks to you. Grow your roses and never let some anonymous asshole's opinion, full of spite or malice toward your work, stop you.

"Because those assholes don't fucking matter."

He rounded the corner to stand next to Jared.

"Any more questions?"

Jared crooked his elbow, took Jensen's hand and looped it under his arm, escorting Jensen through the university's parking garage.

" _Desiderata_ , huh? Looks like I wasn't the only one influenced by the '60's." Jared tucked Jensen closer and quick kissed his temple. 

"Aww, what can I say? I am a child of the universe, I have a right to be here." Jensen dragged his cane haphazardly behind. 

"You're good with the students."

"I enjoy them. I'd be lying if I said that I haven't thought about teaching after my painting days are over."

"Ohh, then I could be your sexy student teacher."

Jensen laughed, "I'd like that, but I don't know how you'd find time to help me teach when you're flying around the world, touring with your art."

"That's easy. You take the semester off, and I'll take you around the world." Jared pushed Jensen against the passenger side of his car and kissed him. "I'd describe every mountain peak, every tropical beach and every forest _primeval_." Jensen snickered at that. "Using the colors you know so well, you'd know exactly what everything looked like."

"You could do it, too," Jensen sighed, happily. "Looks like I made the right choice in apprentice."

"Damn straight," Jared agreed.

Jensen kissed him back. "Because when my world goes dark, you'll be keeping my colors bright for me."

~~*~~*~~fin~~*~~*~~ 

**Author's Note:**

> My artist [Sammycolt24](http://sammycolt24.livejournal.com/) went above and beyond the call of duty for _The Colors of My Life_ Her work is gorgeous and gives the readers the feeling of color and life I so wanted for this story. Deepest, deepest thanks, my dear.
> 
>   
> _The colors of my life_  
>  Are bountiful and bold,  
> The purple glow of indigo,  
> The gleam of green and gold.  
> The splendor of a sunrise,  
> The dazzle of a flame,  
> The glory of a rainbow,  
> I'd put 'em all to shame.  
> No quiet browns and grays,  
> I'll take my days instead  
> And fill them till they overflow  
> With rose and cherry red  
> And should this sunlit world  
> Grow dark one day,  
> The colors of my life  
> Will leave a shining light  
> To show the way.
> 
>  
> 
> The Colors of My Life from the musical Barnam.
> 
> Another Author's Note:  
> Years ago, I had the privilege of beta'ing some stories for a wonderful fanfic author in my last fandom. The link to Prufrock's Love's XF fanfic is below. To me, her writing is magnificent, and to paraphrase Mark Pellegrino, "I wish I could write like that." Years ago, I asked her how if felt that so many readers enjoyed her stories. She gave me the exact analogy of the roses in her front yard. Obviously, I never forgot it.
> 
> Links
> 
> Because they make me happy
> 
> [Degenerative (or Pathelogical) Myopia ](http://www.eyeassociates.com/pathological_myopia.htm)
> 
>  
> 
> The Colors of My Life sung by Jim Dale
> 
>  
> 
> Barnum, the Musical
> 
>  
> 
> Jensen's cane
> 
>  
> 
> [Arshile Gorky (scroll down for his Impressionism paintings)](http://arshilegorkyfoundation.org/image-gallery)
> 
>  
> 
> [Jared's Prime Time tee shirt ](http://www.tshirtpusher.com/Prime-Time-Prime-Numbers-Math-T-shirt.html)
> 
>  
> 
> [U.S. Bank Center, Milwaukee](http://www.usbankcentermilwaukee.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> [Wounded Warrior Project](http://www.woundedwarriorproject.org/)
> 
>  
> 
> [Saranyu ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saranyu)
> 
>  
> 
> [ Yarikh ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yarikh)
> 
>  
> 
> [ Mikado yellow ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mikado_yellow)
> 
>  
> 
> [Scleral Buckling Surgery for Retinal Detachment ](http://www.webmd.com/eye-health/scleral-buckling-surgery-for-retinal-detachment)
> 
>  
> 
> [Vitrectomy Procedure ](http://www.buzzle.com/articles/vitrectomy-recovery.html)
> 
>  
> 
> [ headrest and positioning supplies for after Jensen's eye surgery](http://www.vitrectomy.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> [Prufrock's Love X-Files Fanfiction](http://www.reocities.com/prufrocks_love/)
> 
>  
> 
> [Desiderata](http://www.cs.columbia.edu/~gongsu/desiderata_textonly.html)


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